Happiness reached, you are walking on the edge of the blade.
six eyes gleam that wavers,
the foot, tense ice cracks;
and therefore does not touch you who loves you more.
If you come upon the souls of sadness
invaded and cleared, your morning is sweet and
disturbers like the nests of cornices. But nothing
charged the baby's crying
that runs the ball between the houses.
(from "Ossi di sepia", 1928)
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