Page 4 - THE BOOK DEMO
P. 4

dwindling Bergolo locals that dropped from 245 to 77
            in just 20 years from 1960.

            Yet, this ephemerality is often associated with the
            purest of beauties. Bergolo was the place in which
            the bounds between strangers were not devalued by
            appearances: a little Eden, whereby 35 poets
            experienced the joy to be seen, to be read, to read,
            and to fully understood. In this tiny town in Northern
            Italy, a glimpse could hide unimaginable treasures,
            precious stones through a cave. Eyes so deep
            cannot be held on a shallow flat-screen.


            Piles of white papers; hundreds of shapes of iris
            colour. Our speeches with the mountains, blinded by
            the fog, made us wiser. We learned how to shine by
            watching the stars in the moonless nights. In this
            quiet location, we were the stone thrown in a smooth
            lake. The salty water by which flowers grow.

            A whispered conversation no translation is needed
            for.

            Teary eyes, lashes touching lashes, my hand, your
            hand, the thoughts my mind suggested now belong
            to you, who have become a guardian of all the
            secrets confessed with unspoken words.

            Here is our book. Read it at leisure, or read it in haste,
            or pick one piece and reject the rest, or follow a
            thread, or forget us and pass it on.


                                            3
   1   2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9