Beatrice

I gambled away my life ,

disguised as a street poet.

Knocking on every door of fantasy,

wireless thightrope walker ,

trying to escape a webless spider ...

Your door didn't have a key .

I entered like a welcome robber ,

stealing the tenderness of your mooring...

Losing myself in the mystery of your hills

which called only for fountains of milk...

I only desired virgins that Leonardo 

had not frozen in Renaissance landscapes...

I wrote crazy hours for a mermaid 

offered at the damp dawn ...

 When noon struck, summer already 

left a a farewell message ...

And the childless troubadour,became 

a vagabond with a leash around his neck...

Pretty Beatrice,Dante worshipped you,

all I did was caress you ...

 What's the point of having regrets ,

we who are shipwrecked on this island 

where only pleasure mattered ? 

 Happiness could wait for the next birth 

brought by tide ...

 Beatrice,we will look at each other 

like two old apples after the storm .

 In the morning drinking a cup of regrets

and sharing remorses with the sullen fish

and silent canary ...

Do you remember,my dear, that little bar 

via Brera ? 

When Milan awoke ,happy to be meeting spring ?

One day,Harlequin fled ,shattering 

the mirror of illusions at the sight 

of the first fallen leaf ...

 A supermarket replaced 

the little bar via Brera .

 Dreamless retirees buying 

their ready-made coffee for the winter...

Beatrice, I'd love to meet your daughter.

She would be an actress,calling me grandpa ! 

I would find that amusing and a little sad...

 Bea, I am so confused for having dared 

to rebuilt a false life together ...

  Will we meet again via Brera 

in a timeless afterlife ?