A poem by  Alfonso Gatto, translated by Lisa Mullenneaux 

Evenings will return to cool
the piazzas in the blue. From the sea,
the moon will climb high up the white walls
and in the flood of gardens a wind
thick with houses, trees and stars
will pass through vast clear skies.
Voices of families at dinner,
the quick intoxication of their laughter,
will return as in a dream.

O windows, wells, porches, glass
attached to our everyday lives, to the gleam
of fresh delights and regrets,
o new moon shining on my memory
bring daylight with your song of lost words,
with tender sounds, with kisses stolen in the dark.
Be the red pulp of a split watermelon
in the center of the white tablecloth.



Alfonso Gatto & Lisa Mullenneaux