Seven P.M.

The bottle shards, like scales atop the wall—
orange, lilac, ocher, blue of Chartres—
reflect the setting sun
on the lane at nightfall.

An elm tree overflows: arrows of whorls,
cackles, calls, tumult of wings’ upheavals.

Flotsam of defunct cathedrals,
shimmering fragments, wall.
[Translated from the Italian by Andrew Frisardi]
“Le sette di sera,” © Mondadori Libri S.p.A.