Genoa Woman
You brought me a little seaweed
In your hair, and a wind odor
That came in from hundreds of miles away and arrives
Heavy with meaning, smuggled in your tanned skin:
—O the divine
Simplicity of your acrobat's body—
Not love not spasm, but something untouchable,
Necessity's ghost that walks aimlessly
Serene and ineluctable through the soul
And unties it with joy, as though under a sweet spell,
So that the desert wind
Can carry it out through infinity.
How small the world is
and how light it is in your hands.
In your hair, and a wind odor
That came in from hundreds of miles away and arrives
Heavy with meaning, smuggled in your tanned skin:
—O the divine
Simplicity of your acrobat's body—
Not love not spasm, but something untouchable,
Necessity's ghost that walks aimlessly
Serene and ineluctable through the soul
And unties it with joy, as though under a sweet spell,
So that the desert wind
Can carry it out through infinity.
How small the world is
and how light it is in your hands.
--Dino Campana
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