take us to ship and are islands.
intricate, deserted
treasures that we can offer to those who do not arrive?
our coast is difficult. our guiding light rather than light
voice does not attract, scare and no
sailor lost in the night
touch the beaches where our
still hurt in the footsteps of that castaway
who knew of our desert.
night, every night promises
and denies us the way back, the tornaviaggio,
the love
save us from ourselves and that is the word forever.
in ourselves unnamed
trees give shade and grow tired of their own.
those who leave but do not suffer from thirst
reef, like ports,
sail in her sleep, another attempt to quench thirst
before, watching us, see us as
ships, happy.
are islands.
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