To the Wedding

You have a voice that couldn’t lie. There are voices that can’t lie.

They smile, they hug their knees, they lean a little against one another and they wait together, as they often wait. In small towns like Piadena on this plain, where the skyline hides nothing, they wait for the moments during which life counts. When they arrive, these moments, they come and they pass quickly. Afterwards, nothing is quite the same and they wait once more. Time here is often like time for athletes who prepare for months or years for a performance which lasts less than a minute. Now they watch the motorcyclist drive across the piazza and leave their town

sky is the colour of a dressing over a wound which bleeds.

The waters change all the while and stay the same only on the map.

The waters change all the while and stay the same only on the map

Paradise is not for living in, says John the Baptist, it’s for visiting.

There’s no question of leaving. It’s a question of not going further, of stopping. And you, you want to go further. I don’t ask why. Any more than I ask why there’s a metal called tungsten. Tungsten exists. (Laughter)
So does love

Blindness is like the cinema, because its eyes are not either side of a nose but wherever the story demands.

A long train packed with soldiers can change history, Papa says.

The railwayman goes to lock up his house. He turns the key in the door as if the act of turning it is already an assurance that he will be back next week. The way he does things with his hands inspires confidence. He is one of those men for whom manual gestures are more trustworthy than words. He pulls on his gloves, starts the engine, glances at the petrol gauge, taps down to first, lets out the clutch and gl