Dad,
I dreamed of you. We were at sea, a little Ischia, a little Lipari.
You were coming down two steep cliffs.
was dangerous.
not seen you do well, perhaps you did not mind. Suddenly
did you notice that someone was in the water and you come down too fast, to throw.
I looked towards the sea to see who was there: and in there you were there, still you, but his face, eyes, mouth.
I've cried: "Be careful, attentive father, is steep, chutes, to leave him alone there, do you plan!"
You do not have heard me, you stumbled, you tumbled into the sea, cutting them on the rocks and ruffling the water.
"Dad! - I screamed - you hurt?"
Have you pulled up, you showed me a small wound on his side: "Just a little" you said, laughing.
Just what is enough for being away.
Roberta Flack - "Words can not bring the storks"
