I am not

under this grey suburban sky
I am not a brick in your wall
I am not the tool that will place it on
I am not

I am not the water the sand and the concrete
I am not the grout that will stick it on
I am not

I am not the hands that will climb it
and not even those that will color it
I am not

I am not the sea that separates us
I am not the beach that will not receive me
I am not the boat that will sink
and not even the waves that will lead it adrift
I am not

I am not your eyes that pretend not to see
I am not your ears that to listen no longer know
I am not

I am not your sense of guilt
and not even your repentance in the day of feast
your clean jacket your polished plastic shoes
and your brunch at home waiting for you
I am not

I do not know yet what exactly I am
but I know that a little I will learn on the way
and you from the other side of the wall
 you alone will never know



Marco Bo