How many memories
how many
sandwiches with bresaola and lemon
and glasses of “not wine”
meatballs just made
the old photo studio
and ice cream
made with fresh milk
the church bell rings out
I contemplate
the florist shop window
colorful and poetic corner
of a street
with a very important name
Via Santa Maria
and a tear
flows on my face
while I remember
my fugitive childhood
the church bell rings again
and the time
unstoppable
passes by
