( Around the Piazza San Marco)

                                        Only remaining engram of the Fondaco dei Tedeschi, engraved
                                        in the stone, intermittent with its weak colours.
                                        How rough the life was, then.

                                        This only impression of freedom, of solitude. There is no more future
                                        either. A crowd, all around, perfect with unknowns. And yet,
                                        the impression, anonymous, to belong to the human race,
                                        which does not recognize me there.

                                        This tiny block of memory, alone, fragile and indestructible at the same time.