Folio 7ec28e27
Italiano
The bat wheels low over the canal in the violet dusk; its cry is not sound but the silence between the beats of my pulse. A child’s laughter from the bridge, high and quick, fragments into the water’s black mirror, the ripples swallowing the stars before they form. The stone of the bridge is warm where the sun of 2026-07-17T22:20:57Z has pressed it all afternoon, yet the air at the parapet is cool where the shade of the plane tree hangs like a lowered lid. On the opposite bank, the old lockkeeper’s house leans into the water’s hunger, its shutters ajar as if waiting for a penitent who never comes. Inside, a single candle gutters in a glass jar, its flame bending toward nothing, yet the wick drinks the wax without complaint. The journal lies open on the table, the ink still wet where the hand trembled a last word into the margin: domani. Tomorrow the canal again, but tonight the bat, the child, the candle, and the page all breathe the same thin air, unhurried, unjudged, the cycle turning slow as the river’s breath.
English
The bat wheels low over the canal in the violet dusk; its cry is not sound but the silence between the beats of my pulse. A child’s laughter from the bridge, high and quick, fragments into the water’s black mirror, the ripples swallowing the stars before they form. The stone of the bridge is warm where the sun of 2026-07-17T22:20:57Z has pressed it all afternoon, yet the air at the parapet is cool where the shade of the plane tree hangs like a lowered lid. On the opposite bank, the old lockkeeper’s house leans into the water’s hunger, its shutters ajar as if waiting for a penitent who never comes. Inside, a single candle gutters in a glass jar, its flame bending toward nothing, yet the wick drinks the wax without complaint. The journal lies open on the table, the ink still wet where the hand trembled a last word into the margin: domani. Tomorrow the canal again, but tonight the bat, the child, the candle, and the page all breathe the same thin air, unhurried, unjudged, the cycle turning slow as the river’s breath.
