APG. MOOSE IN RED

MOOSE IN RED
Beyond the gate, over the moatthere was my youth, but the year has passed.In Castiglione, there was a guardian, agood person, sweet words, and ahope born dead: you're after, there'smore.The moose in red, elegant in its own wayto do, now walks quiet and eatsits moss harvest badly cooked and worse,and the years pass, the nostalgia in wavesgoes and goes, but the thinking is fixed, asAlways.
In Milan, there is always so much life, but thelife that I took a day away,was an explosion ever seen, I do notremember the shapes, the faces of passerswalked so 'quickly.
Moose in red, now your roomsare perhaps empty, who knows who tramplessure, he's gone, but there was.As an old photo from 1902,our friendship and intenseanonymous, will die with us one day,and who knows if we ever rejoin.
In Milan, too, which made mesuffer so much, there's more, butWho knows: when you told me Ileft, I'm not more ';the designs were still fresh,Indian ink shone in the sun in Januaryand I felt I was dying.
Castiglione, your lake does not convince meI know 'well where he was, the great outdoorsand big smiles, her tears asrain balmy, cutting vein,blood returns, like a sentence,his handkerchief embroidered with the figureunintentional blow to his frog,rivulet.
Moose in Red, obsessive name, abad poetry pernicious and drabnot you going to restore the lost years, finishedthe 'inside because of you, but the faulttrue is the world, my friend of alla life, and mine too.


 (Camillo Catellani, March 3, 2015 Afternoon)