for my father

1

    Here it comes
    on its black sail
and surely nothing will be the same.
    Out of the silence
    in from the horizon
    and nothing will be the same.


2

    What can it be?
The dance of the viruses of course
under the theatre's glass.
Here's a waltz, a roundel, as they reproduce.
    Meanwhile, up in the paradiso
the scientists have started their applause.


3

Listen to the notes
    listen to the notes
as perfect as the pomegranates
and the plumage of the bee-eater
...