Let me born into an early star, high above your land.

Earlier than the first ray sheds on the somber shore, 

that the seagulls flapping, like every heartbeat that calls your name.

Earlier than your first-open eyes, 

that your first breath to the cold winter air and your cries shattered

The first snow on the roof marked your year of 1973.

So early that

you can always find me whenever you look up to the sky, 

and realize how your heart is captured by my gravity.

No one can break into this unnamable magnetic field of love.

In your eyes I find another universe

amber-colored and crystal clear, limpid as this terrific beauty

it alludes me to orbit and follow, into the long night of Cerignola

a small town in Italy where

I wish I could become part of your early memory

into the broken walls, into new dawn waking up without

the absence of you by my side.

Moaning, but still, faithful as true

I speak to you in words of love.  

There are no more nights to arise from you.

You've been to the army. 

You've been to the bars. 

You've been homeless. 

You've been searching for love. 

You leave for Paris at the age of 30, singing,

in the language of a swirling spring.

and tenderness—

Tenderness is a blossoming flower in your breath. 

Never shrivels, compared to a shooting star. 

No one asks to be an early star

for it's too bright to be seen.

But the only thing I can do for you

is to be blind in love as I will ever be.