You should not have
ripped out your image
taken from us, from the world,
a portion of beauty.
Tindari, I know you
mild between broad hills, overhanging the waters
of the god’s sweet islands.
Today, you confront me
and break into my heart.
Everyone stands alone at the heart of the world
pierced by a ray of sunlight,
and suddenly it is evening.
There is still the wind that I remember
firing the manes of horses, racing,
slanting, across the plains,
the wind that stains and scours the sandstone,
You are still the one with the stone and the sling,
Man of my time. You were in the cockpit,
With the malevolent wings, the meridians of death,