ph: Mattia Crepaldi
Nuda sei semplice (Cento sonetti d’amore, XXVII) - Pablo Neruda
In nude you are as bare as one of your hands
smooth, earthly, small, round, transparent
with lines of moon and paths of an apple,
in nude you’re slender like a naked stem of wheat.
In nude you look blue like the Cuban night
with stars and vines in your hair,
in nude you are whole and yellow
like summer in a church of gold.
In nude you look tiny like one of your finger nails
curvy, subtle, rose-colored like the rising dawn
and you move back to the world’s underground.
As if in a large tunnel of robes and chores:
your clarity, dressed, blinds and drops its leaves
and other times becomes a naked hand again.