The infinite is like this:
there are only the things I like.

For example
I like to watch the seagulls on the Arno being transported
from one place to the other
and making their way back simply by inflating their wings and flapping their feet.
Then
I like huge flying libraries and the custodians that hold them
by a thread.
I like tiny cafés
just below the level of the pavement (two or three steps down is enough).
You sit down and I never quite know what to get at first.
The croissants are too glazed
the froth on the cappuccino is not maritime enough.

By the way:

in your opinion are we below sea level?

You see
at some other time it would have seemed like such a capital concern.
But now that (I'm not exaggerating) the stars
slip past us like tepid doves
everything else is pretty insignificant.

Don't you think?

Translation: Matilda Colarossi