War time, and the poet finds a variation in the landscape that draws him into the past and the memory of a café. Bosco Cappuccio is the hill that offers him that illusion: its velvety green grassy slope reminds the poet of a comfortable armchair. And he is transported far from the war, far from the devastated Carso and into a café in Paris slumbering under a faint light, like the light of the moon that sheds a white light on the hill.

The poem is from the collection L’allegria, Mondadori, Milano.

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