by Szczepan Twardoch

At night the field in the hills starry with skylights. Pulsating, thousands of marine lantern. Ten years I haven’t seen a skylight and now the whole field of skylights. Pulsating, thousands of marine lantern. Mediterranean owl circling above us, hooting rhythmically as sonar in „Das Boot”. Stone floors giving back solar heat while the sun setts. Wine, cigarettes, simple food.
Ombra della sera, the shadow of the evening, stretched like a human silhouette in the setting sun a statue of a boy with his hands at his sides, two points in this more than in El Greco’s elongated silhouette, face and genitals.
Meadows at the top of Volterra, Etruscan forum reportedly destroyed scarcely by the Medici, now a park, in which many young people skylark. Swarthy and slender youths unsheathed from the waist up, underwear protruding over stapled striped shorts, girls in jeans and bikini tops, sprinkling with water, kicking the ball, cuddling, kissing, young, carnal, passionate, shouting, squealing, girl’s hands on lean and hard chests of boys in a gesture that repels and attracts at the same time.
Long hair, girl bends, the boy pours cold water on the hair, she snorts like a foal, straightens throwing her black hair on her back, drops of water on their dark and shiny from the heat skin, she laughs, boy with shaven temples touches the corner of her lips, the girl licking his finger.
Etruscan urns, Etruscan Faces in terracotta and alabaster. Plastic plates, roadside food and liter carafe of wine that is drinked from glasses.
Thoughts of those who were before the Etruscans.