He walks this damp beach between a grudge and an illness, the sailor.

He stumbles over rocks and confuses them with memories.

He blasphemes with his tongue in the air; and then he starts laughing, or crying, as the case may be.

Between a dream and a reason he pours his life on himself trying to count, without succeeding, his grains of sand, as round as his loves, as harmless as his illusions...

Giampaolo Talani, 1998