SONG FOR MARIO In the film, Il Postino More than an island you were learning to sail on those choppy words a little boat to maybe, one day, Chile. And into your being, lover, communist, martyr, poet. You found your silence, you sang it under boots, under truncheons. The redness inside you, outside you. The damage of poems that change the impossible. Is the whole world a metaphor? you asked that poet. A circle on a blank page. There it goes, small white ball, riots through all the defence. Your woman's mouth secretes it, your son's hand, you never held, holds it. Little white ball of earth shoots the circumference. And there you go, almost silent fish, escaping the sad nets with the tide's blood. Maybe, one day, Chile.