Lucio Dalla

In his voice I hear
the many grains of salt
taken out from the sea and dried by the sun
on all of these beaches where his feet took him
at times pushing against the wind;
or peacefully sat - streching a minute well into sunset.

I feel the dust of the city
sitting in a superficial layer
atop of his notes and this makes me trust
that the words I can hear rolling in the air
from the tip of his tongue and experience of others
come from this very real world we share all of us.

Storms passed over his head,
few thoughts stopped entagled in his beard,
but the joy of living in this world of ours
still wakes him up and opens his windows
in the gentle air of the Sunday mornings he brings
in our souls with his songs - for which I bring thanks.