The trees of his flooded fields
still require water

I have counted the dead of Europe
and have painted their likenesses
on the long walls

Cronaca Souversiva

I have a belief in the existence of God

Ci sono i fantasmi sopra i gigli bianchi

I will cover the martyrs of the great shame

On the days of Polish festivals, chairs are left vacant at the tables of families, in memory of those who have passed. I am the servant of these vacancies

Even the dead show compassion as I am always fed

As a child I was given a box of paper shapes. These were of many colours. In time I threw them into the skies expecting a mosaic of great beauty. Only chaos was delivered

This was my first lesson

Liberta Corrompe

When blind Japanese fishermen are rescued from violent storms they are always in possession of a black pearl

This was my second lesson

La richezza di perle corrompe il mare

I have attended the plague church carrying my parcel of cloth. I was not expelled

The fires should not have risen

In the worlds of music the Sarabande is a dance. It shares its triple metre with other formal dance styles. The Mazurka and the Waltz are examples

I do not dance and therefore have no use for this record.

I have decided to forgo walking

To walk is to dance

All dances are unclean

I am not unclean

Lo non sono un peccatore

I am to travel with Lalla Rookh

I am not of royal blood but each year I write verses on the first snowflakes of the winter. These melt in her hand. She admires me from afar

I have named my masters ship after her. It was built under the lights of heaven. But she does not travel under mast.

My pilgrimage is futile

In my resting room the sunlight and the shadows engage in an everlasting conflict
no victory is claimed

Lascio loro campi di battaglia

I have a brother named Martin of the Clouds
our father has died
this is his account

Why is this most tender of men
lying on the table in front of me ?

He may be cold but his noble features
have not sunk

Death has no democracy

I weep for my dead father
my father of faith

I am walking in the shadows

Panorama Jerusalem

I have been invited to eat at the table of friends
I cannot enter the city as the gates are closed to me

As I rest on the high ground
I note a tunnel deep in the hills

I enter the city by stealth
and am soon at the house of my friends

The food I am given tastes bitter
I do not complain

My bed is rough
I do not sleep

When I attempt to leave the city
the gates are still closed

The lizards speak to me

I hand them my pride
which they instantly bury

The gates are opened

My pockets are full of honeyed fruits
which I share with the beggars

Lascio la Terra Santa 

I am of thirst
I drink from the luminous oceans
I sit on the earliest thrones

A Sallier papyrius contains a calendar of lucky and unlucky days

I am aware of the assassins that surround me
they do not strike
I have no signature
I am only the translator