Contest
by Lucio Mariani
You’d ask if I were ever late.
That’s a problem for people stuck
between the second and last lanes.
Me. I’m in lone pursuit.
So that whether I’m early or late
depends solely on the day’s disaffection.
To catch the beat I clapped my hands once or twice,
Before splashing my face with particles
of happiness. For getting it right. In the dark.
From Traces of Time by Lucio Mariani, translated from the Italian by Anthony Molino, Open Letter, http://openletterbooks.org. Reprinted with permission. All rights reserved.
Where
by Lucio Mariani
Where the din of your memory
stagnates strong subtle unconsumed
everywhere moons and disparate stars
tell how much of the night I pass
how many nights I still pass looking
to find the rarest of pretenses
to pour over my chest and the wait
for the little death you handed me.
From Traces of Time by Lucio Mariani, translated from the Italian by Anthony Molino, Open Letter, http://openletterbooks.org. Reprinted with permission. All rights reserved.