The infinite is like this

The infinite is like this:
there are only the things I like.

For example
I like to watch the seagulls on the Arno being transported
from one place to the other
and making their way back simply by inflating their wings and flapping their feet.
I like huge flying libraries and the custodians that hold them
by a thread.
I like tiny cafés
just below the level of the pavement (two or three steps down is enough).
You sit down and I never quite know what to get at first.
The croissants are too glazed
the froth on the cappuccino is not maritime enough.

By the way:

in your opinion are we below sea level?

You see
at some other time it would have seemed like such a capital concern.
But now that (I'm not exaggerating) the stars
slip past us like tepid doves
everything else is pretty insignificant.

Don't you think?

Translation: Matilda Colarossi

by Roberto Amato

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