Ah the delight of dawn!
Over the grassy lawn
the spark of silk, of silk
spat out by some small spider
to be the breeze's pawn.
A distant siren whines
from the freeway. Sun shines!
What a Sunday, what peace!
An old man's tidy peace,
his favorite hour of all.
The ants march on in rows.
They're off to do who knows
what harm to the ripe pears . . .
Such sun now on the wall!
The lizards heed its call.
Italian; trans. Geoffrey Brock
Franco Fortini, Italian, trans. Geoffrey Brock, Poetry Magazine, December, 2007, The Poetry Foundation.