Circles In The Water & Mobile Sunup, two poems by Alessio Zanelli

It is as difficult as desirable
to fix circles in the water.

Once cast the stone
the hand has just withdrawn
and already the ripples are fading,
the circles die out away from the center.

Not even the freeze could succeed,
as icing water loses any surface relief.

I’ve tried to fix a circle on my mind
around your promptly pictured face,
but it likewise disappeared very soon;
what lay within quickly vanished too,
like the hole of the stone in the pool.

All that is left is a still blank plane.

And the bitter chill of absence,
which could fix nothing but regret.

The great dormant!
Reviving only when moribund
upon the morning’s mewl,
given to clutching it
as soon as it sinks into quiet breath.

She’s not entitled to know
she’s ever doomed to a grandiose end.
So she fights strenuously,
each time as if it were the first and the last;
victim of firm conviction and absolute ignorance.

A like struggle takes place inside,
with the daylight reinflating
the soul’s crumpled void,
reminding the flesh
it’s just the soul’s torpid integument.

When the sun sprinkles the eyelids with rays
and finally invades the pupils,
breaking through the inner curtain
and awaking us to a scene
each day one stage beyond.