The Suspended Weight of the Unremembered Dream

Dawn air, a mere veil
Between released sleep and blooming day,
Still holds, like a frost,
A silent echo, a faint vapor.
It is not the plot, nor the figure,
But a sweet imprint, almost an aura.

Sì, there is a volume, a barely heard wave,
That presses upon the chest, without name or form.
An entire story, rapid and flowered,
Now is a breeze that the mind conforms
To a dense non-being, to an unknown lump,
A slight burden, a distant beat.

Then the sun shifts the shadow upon the pillow,
And unties the knot of that silent spell.
The weight vanishes, slow and silver,
Leaving only the morning, without tears,
Without memory, but with the certainty
Of having carried an ephemeral richness.