At the long reading line-up,
in this cool ballroom,
the ice sculptor knows
we’ll witness his crystal butterfly
tickling,
that vivid beautiful art
he has carved,
silently inhaling our rhythm,
each drop shares the invisible alphabets
and Rome time,
slowly melts
into a stream of flowing passion.
Our ears lean to both
the rough currents of life
and
the delicate grace of verses,
the butterfly finds her way
into
this sunny city’s
spring.
