Autumn in Valmalenco, Lombardy, Italy

           The Rolling Soul And The Mountain Ghost


             Are you not really out of breath yet?


             However fast you rush down the slope,

             you will never be able to outstrip him.


             The mountain ghost

             runs after and Attacks

             the solitary spirits;

             those more tenacious

             than a pine that pushes

             its way for light

             through the rocks,

             bending its trunk

             if need require.


             It is their untamed vital fire

             that attracts and nourishes him;

             he devours them from inside,

             till they become part of him.


             He feeds on rolling souls like yours,

             made of adorned remembrances,

             of silence and loneliness,

             of energy and genius confined in a body

             in turn slave to gravity.


             And there is no one that can escape him.




               First published in Poetry Monthly (UK)