Strips and strips of light and shadow –
an easy and delicate veil –
fall to the mountains of Urbino*
hiding the long-long way.

But the forefinger of time and abyss –
the sunlight has slipped through the window —
gently have touched the bureau, the blind,
lingering over the mirror
suddenly got out from its very heart
a Vermeer’s art.

They are sighing – the mountains of Urbino –
with their sigh’s mist the streets are crowded,
the night has dissolved the ancient town,
one where the soul is full with the calm.
______
* the ancient Italian town