Filippo Sorcinelli - Fango E Pesca

THE FALLING FRAGRANCE

There is a blessing weary of a tree that is always ill.

Its branches are heavy with time returning, ripening,
and the earth receives—like a rough cushion—
the fruits of a memory unashamed.

Each step sinks into its truth,
between my fingers I hold the peach, still warm from the sun.
The thin skin opens, gives way,
the mouth fills with liquid honey and root.

It is a bite that tastes of mud,
a sap of rain and dirty hands.

There is no longer any distance now
between what falls and what remains on the skin.

Memory nourishes
that breath that tastes of home.

In the end, it is love too—the firefly
that had lost its way in those warm nights.
And that garden answered her
as it did my tired, useless silence.

Because hands are dirty with mud.
And because perhaps mud is life.

Subject: Ripe peach, Rain, Violet leaves, Coriander

Back Subject: Osmanthus, Mud accord, Gurjum, Jasmine

Tail: Patchouli, Oakmoss, Musk, Tobacco leaves