Old attic in Arco
covered with dust like cotton candy
smiling like a wise grandmother
with that shaky tile
and the curious chest
keeper of I wonder what
from the sky-light dressed in thin cobweb
I overlook the park
and on the background the old fountain
where every night
phantoms of the past dance
the old car that consumed charcoal
the encampment of Germans
memory of one morning at dawn
shivering with fear
I can still hear
Grandma Tina calling
and the noise of the children
descending the stairs
in search of a tasty snack
hidden behind the laurel hedge
in the silence of a world
in which sand seemed like gold
