this hand, your hand, the longest day

there were no fourteenth chances, with this one and
a veces, non lo ricordo purtroppo.

because i believe in youth and i
engage in stando giovene
and and and

nella otra mano, we are all older than
we seem older than we
remember our years to be ::older::

with veins in our elbows a
tickle in our throat and lacking the
smell of eucalyptus when
we are scratched

and so, the twenty-third day of the
sixth month of the
sixth year,
the sun came out and it burnt
the day the
solstice

came.

in questa mano i am holding the sun
in this hand i am holding
this hand, your hand,

i am facing the sun and
il girasole, too, continues to the west
faces downturn
l’ultima fascia di luce

::hits:: this hand, your hand, the longest day.