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Summer

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And it grows, the vain
summer,
even for us with our
bright green sins:

behold the dry guest,
the wind,
as it stirs up quarrels
among magnolia boughs

and plays its serene
tune on
the prows of all the leaves—
and then is gone,

leaving the leaves
still there,
the tree still green, but breaking
the heart of the air.

Carlo Betocchi, Tutte le poesie, © Garzanti Editore spa, 1996.
Source: Poetry (March 2010)

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This poem originally appeared in the March 2010 issue of Poetry magazine

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Summer

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