Stretched on the bed you sometimes see forms,
curves entering and spirals escaping.
Transparent organs up high open out
and become a soft line chasing itself,
cleaning breath from dark colours—blood colour,
or the thick colour of the flesh where bees are born.

Nothing regenerates, but is prolonged, endless
in the line that cleans objects and does things
to think, to inhabit: a large egg, for instance,
cracks itself without losing liquid and blankness overruns
the ceiling corners, opens an archway, a door
between continents.

Between sky and water this building
shines in limitless light:
you can open it, open yourself
to a rough-toned tongue,
return to the round sound of another
recovering those tones like windows onto sea
or suspension bridge through the park

where people stretched on grass are bees
and in the sun warmth seems to prevent death
though in years, millions, by one day
exploding.
You then follow other lines, those of species,
perhaps like knowing that being born
will no longer be a violence, but a phenomenon of gaze,

and from the bed you let sex clamber
round this building’s outlines
storming in its blankness under rays,
a star the moment before
explosion.
Life is everywhere, in a curved line
everyone inhabits like thinking.
Because I think of my mouth the bees now leave it.

Versione originale della poesia:
Aquatic centre – da Maria Borio, Trasparenza, collana ‘Lyra giovani’ a cura di Franco Buffoni, Interlinea, 2019 tradotta in inglese da Julia Pelosi-Thorpe

Copertina a cura di Mirko Della Monica

Musicisti:
voce: Roxiie Reese
piano: Brian Barber
chitarra elettrica, batteria, mix e mastering: Stefano Bechini
chitarra acustica e basso: Elio Cagnizi