Marco Di Caprio

The world is still weeping, my love,
but not in words.
The street below my window
forgets its own echo.
Footsteps fall
and do not remain.
A tree stands out of season,
its leaves fixed
as if time had missed them.
I walk,
but each step settles
like dust on stone,
no sound returns to me.

Your memory,
a small warmth
caught in the throat of the air,
reminds me
that once
the world could answer back to me.

Return
in the breath that clouds the glass at night.
Return
in the wind that lifts a large curtain.

Return
in the word
that almost forms
and breaks.

I ask for nothing vast,
that somewhere
in the ordinary light,
your absence
fails for a moment.

Without you
everything goes on,
without grace,
without beauty,
without a soul,
without a meaning.