I kindle the wake of eyes and awe
for the mountains’ dry stone walls
and I chase back in time
the effort and genius
of those who on the path
that drinks from the sky
summoned one by one
the stones
and patiently gave
one and the other
the dignity of belonging
the joy of blooming
in the open-air mosaic.
I bear the wake of eyes and awe
for you, oh God,
as you go summoning
blades of grass and star dust.
roars of creeks
rustles of wind
concerts of birds,
caresses of women and resilient men,
scents and hues
lights and shadows
of endless lands
in the dry stone wall of a path
that drinks from the endless sky.



























by Angelo Casati
(translation by Alice Colombi)