Crossman Medalist 1322

Ancient Dance Title Searching

Three days you do not breathe, my Trieste

Three days look at the windows steamed up, wrapped in your cloak of ice and snow.

Bella, unapproachable, fascinating.

You were over the glass but did not want to leave me alone.

And then your Bora and 'crept between the window frames,

swinging the curtains and carrying gusts that smelled of earth hardened.

you beat my windows with grains of ice,

but when I tried to open your door you have exaggerated your mighty wind

and the windows were closed.

Tu la, I here,

be watching from the misted glass sparkle in the trees, streets,

in a silence broken only by the cries of the wind.

Stop time you repeat an ancient dance which sometimes calls for humans to court.

But no one knows more about the ancient dance that scares them.

Then you have taken the habit of always

have slowed down your frenetic pirouettes, you've stripped the white coat,

're back to every day.

I opened the windows, I have walked your streets I breathed again.

I still regret not having been able to dance with you,

into your icy roads in the arms of your mighty wind,

the ancient dance of the winter of Trieste.