Sometimes in the evening a face
looks at us from the bottom of a mirror;
the art must be like that mirror
that reveals our own face
They say that Ulysses, fed up with prodigies,
he cried with love when he spotted his Itaca
green and humble. The art is that Itaca
of green eternity, not of prodigies.
It's also like the endless river
what happens and remains and is crystal of the same
Inconstant Heraclitus, who is the same
and it is another, like the endless river.
