the doors of the art nouveau elevator
did not close right
on via valfré january 17 2004

i was sweating in my coat
the ground might disappear
the elevator rose on a slant
the floors swirled by
old double doors facing each other
turin always exudes death

i was a guest sitting on the window-sill
with my feet dangling
my mother has been throwing herself
out the window for years
but the clotheslines
have been her safety net