Nel blu dipinto di blu, Dean met Domenico. They grinned at each other, shook hands as angels sang backing vocals. Happy? Felice…
sky
You used to bring me rockets
“Waving sparklers in the rain – it was all a bit half-hearted, wasn’t it?”
“I enjoyed it. And the rockets were pretty.”
“I suppose so, but they didn’t take us anywhere did they? They didn’t even go anywhere except into the sky.”
“I’d like to go up into the sky. Think how exciting it would be. Flash! Bang!”
“And then you’d fall back to ground, unseen, uncared for, and that would be that.”
“But at least you would have been there, you’d have been colour for a minute. No matter what happened later. One minute would be enough.”
“You’ve changed.”
“You used to bring me rockets.”
I sat the sky on the naughty step
I sat the sky on the naughty step
and asked it why it was crying.
But it just sat there shivering and dripping
on the carpet.
Then with a start it took its head out from among its clouds:
“I’m cold”, it said.
So I thought about the story of the sky and the rain
and anthropomorphising it a little more
but it was cold and I could not see the point
or the wallpaper through the mist.
Today’s forecast is brought to you by an unreliable source
Rain falls from deep blue skies.
Thoughts of rainbows.
Dragons’ eyes.
A theist and an agnostic look at the sky
– It’s called a starry sky, that’s what it’s called.
– I know, but it should be a starred sky, not starry. They didn’t get there on their own, did they? Someone – something – put them there.
– Look, one’s falling, shooting across the sky, make a wish, make a wish.
– So someone’s pushed it. Imagine it, a huge finger with a huge manicured fingernail flicking the star so it skeets across the sky.
– Aye, that’s maybe. But now look at me, look at me wide eyed, so I can see where the stars have fallen to, see the diamond light in your black black eyes.
– Babe?
– Yes, babe?
– The sky’s enough, isn’t it?
– Yes. Yes, the sky’s enough.
Volare… Nel blu dipinto di blu…
I carried you inside me and now I carry the weight of your dreams on my shoulders. I shall not buckle. I shall not fall. They will not break me.
Dreams should be weightless, should be weight-free, should lift you up and take you onward, into the blue, into tomorrow. But as I sit and watch you sleep, on your mother’s young shoulders your dreams lie heavy.
And as I walk along the clifftop path, you sit on my shoulders singing Volare. (Sing, mummy, sing.) I can see the mountains of Albania beyond the blue, beyond the sea and the sky. Volare.
simonsalento 