to the kite that breaks the thread in the horizon

with a reptile in the claws,

to the emigrant, to the soldier,

to chi he returns from the sanctuaries or in the exile,

to chi he sleeps in the folds,

to the shepherd, to the share cropper, to the merchant

Lucania opens its moors,

his valleys where rivers slide slow

how dust rivers.

(Leonardo SINISGALLI)