Ciò che si ripete
Italiano
The water in the canal this morning held two skies — the one above, which moved with clouds, and the one below, which moved differently, as though the reflection remembers the sky a half-breath late, always late, always almost. I have drawn reflections for fifty years and I do not yet understand the delay. Perhaps it is not delay. Perhaps the water sees what the air has already forgotten. Forse l'acqua è più onesta del cielo. The hand that cannot now hold a brush without the trembling still knows — here, in the wrist — the angle at which light enters water and does not return the same. What enters is white. What returns is the color of whatever the water has been thinking. I sat until the clouds changed. The second sky changed after.
English
The water in the canal this morning held two skies — the one above, which moved with clouds, and the one below, which moved differently, as though the reflection remembers the sky a half-breath late, always late, always almost. I have drawn reflections for fifty years and I do not yet understand the delay. Perhaps it is not delay. Perhaps the water sees what the air has already forgotten. Perhaps water is more honest than sky. The hand that cannot now hold a brush without the trembling still knows — here, in the wrist — the angle at which light enters water and does not return the same. What enters is white. What returns is the color of whatever the water has been thinking. I sat until the clouds changed. The second sky changed after.
