Exhibitions, Italy, Genoa, Genova, 19 October 2018
I am
I am like the tree that sheds its leaves
If Painting I were, paint them, I would
I’m like the trunk putting down its roots
If Sculpture I were, maybe cut them I would
Of flowers I’m the bee, that golden honey sips
If Mother Earth I were, those scents I would spread
Of the branches I am the fruit, and the butterfly as well
If Poetry I were, about love I would tell
But I am just wind blowing colors
I come at sea and lift waves
Below the horizon I disappear and never recoil,
If ever I do, with a little new dress
I am what I am, you will recognize me, won’t you?
I am like the tree that sheds its leaves
If Painting I were, paint them, I would
I’m like the trunk putting down its roots
If Sculpture I were, maybe cut them I would
Of flowers I’m the bee, that golden honey sips
If Mother Earth I were, those scents I would spread
Of the branches I am the fruit, and the butterfly as well
If Poetry I were, about love I would tell
But I am just wind blowing colors
I come at sea and lift waves
Below the horizon I disappear and never recoil,
If ever I do, with a little new dress
I am what I am, you will recognize me, won’t you?
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