TOWARDS SANSEPOLCRO Poem by Davide Rondoni

Perhaps Piero della Francesca turning his gaze
already had in his eyes
the fiery silk of videos
the pencilled face of the dead of the news
the dark crowd of youngsters in the streets on those nights
in which one looks for light for the black heart and
the glow of a lighter comes, the blue lamp
of a mobile,
and the street in waves in the dark
against the windshield
the loneliness of a hand open against the window
on floor number ninety -

perhaps he already had our gaze, too
to be able to see in this light Sansepolcro
motionless in its ochre, in the open brown of its fields
and trembling for the sea that comes
from the valley of Trasimeno and of Metauro,
Urbino on one side, Florence on the other

the resurrection as a movement
already begun in things -

Life seeks a body, it knows
more than anybody else the young painter
who has the white fever,
he is implored by the flight that loses itself
in the evening, and the regret
that vehemently blows the words against the wall.

Piero who looks at Jesus, and Jesus
who looks at Piero
the resurrection is a face off
between God and his painter,

and the look of the boy is a fan
for us that on the highway
still linger in that turning around
and one almost wouldn't believe

how calm this valley is
the fire that is in the air
how clear it is here
so clear the wind