naked

names of things
the simple ones
sublimate in good aromas without edges or distortions
and resolve among thorns a portion of life between morning and sunset

those complicated nouns
they do not ever fly over the border of the so must be
and collapse before even building up in the eyes of those who listen
on tiptoe,  if those who listen still exists

of names, on the journey of this life
 as years go by like water of a river, the less I know
the less I own

less and less
but I do fear the void that is
because
arriving to the end,
  between the cracks in the concrete under this grey suburban,sky
naked of things and words,
a good heaven
will be

Marco Bo