Michela Zanarella writes

IT CAN’T JUST BE AIR

It can’t just be air

this love that keeps us alive

and that makes us guess

what is possible

between the sky and the soul.

I believe there is a grammar

of the eyes

where every look

is like a prayer

that saves us from time.

The sun teaches me

when it is positioned above the clouds

how to understand the silence

and from your lips

I can hear

a silence that makes more noise

of a world that wakes up.

Eyes of the World -- Mark Henson

Michela Zanarella writes

Like Aphrodite

Like Aphrodite

I gather docile sensual arias

in men's blushes crowds

Love is in a handful of chills

on the human foliage

that opens to prophecy

of foams.

 The Birth of Venus -- Gustave Moreau

Michela Zanarella writes

Like trees

They have piled up

centuries

like trees

in this world

that knows of fights

and gaping bones.

My shape insists

on removing losses

in a sky that dies.

And thin it becomes ashamed

of the blood that is repeated.

(Come alberi

Si sono ammucchiati

secoli

come alberi

in questo mondo

che sa di risse

e di ossa spalancate.

La mia sagoma insiste

ad allontanare smarrimenti

in un cielo che muore.

E sottile si fa vergogna

del sangue che si ripete)

Sheep And Woodpile -- Suzanne Marie Leclair