We lived in the woods

We walked along veins of soil
or up for shady hours
our tails hanging, blue is the wood.
People of skin and clouds.
The eyes of the birds of prey were bony
white lights in the night.
Rocks, remains, branches.
In the middle of the stone was the water
pushed over the shapes of the world –
an ancient blackness from the seabed.
I smelled it running across my face,
inside my broken, arborescent body.
The grass that becomes clear and sharp.

Francesca Matteoni (Italia, 1975 – ), blog: http://orso-polare.blogspot.com

Translation by Slow Words

Cover image: a gift of Biblioteca del Lupo, pictured by Greta Silva who selected also this poem, read her story here

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