E noi, contavamo gli anni agli alberi.$_35
Offrivamo fichi d’india ad ignari turisti,
con spine ed argilla.
Per strade sudate e solitarie,
per giorni di vento ed ingranaggi,
il grasso nelle mani, il mare di lato,
il buio inciampava in ritardo.
La luce era occupata a scheggiare
rocce, a frantumare muri a secco.
La polvere su per le narici e
moscerini in bocca,
da pasteggiare con birra calda.

Thorns and clay
And we, we were counting the age of trees.
We were offering prickle pears to unaware tourists,
with thorns and clay.
Through sweaty lonesome roads,
and days of wind and gears,
grease in the hands, the sea on the side,
darkness was stumbling late.
The light was busy splintering
rocks, crushing dry stone walls.
Dust up in the nostrils and
fruit flies in the mouth,
to be savoured with warm beer.

Salvatore Minissale