Il Momento

Passing the borders once again.
Roman rain replaced the dry, cold wind of Berlin.
Strange voices beside my ears.
My senses are open.
What is it like to be in Europe once again?
“Cinese, Cinese” I hear it all the time.
Every word of knowledge condensed into a symbol,
a pronoun, an utmost simplification of the Asian face.
Words.
Words.
Words.
The most superior invention of the human race.
“Sono Taiwanese.”
Repeated words dissolve into
the vast terminology of languages.
Sono tornata a casa.
It is late again.
Il fumo.
Moonlight contours half of his face
under the starry sky.
One of his legs rests on the porch.
A contrapposto.
He ciao-ed my neighbors.
I sat on the stairs, moonlight
caressing his gentleness.
Stillness. Come un quadro.
“What are you thinking?”
The brown met the blue.
“My time used to run at full speed.
It is just a part of my work.”
Inala il fumo.
“It seems that my time stops when I am here.”
“One day, I have to decide which is the dream.”
Lo soffia via.
“And is this what you want?”
Silence.
“Now?”
Warm light.
Breath.
Sì.
My Taiwanese flag is the witness.