Old man, still asthmatic? talks at his kitchen table Immersion in air of Veneto eyes concentrated on thought 5 minutes 27 seconds of film kicks in at the click of the Pointer Poppies profusion of sanguinity he says, our own nature advances where? Or the 1 hour 25 minutes 7 seconds behind bird-like microphones Multiplicity is a romance, he says, our words turn into dream moments Set between at table literary ladies hauteur rhymes with auteur But he reaches unassumingly for words to transfix wounded landscape One what is one what is one to do, he says, out here in the marches? His eyes don’t care for the lens don’t see us at cable-end years apart We want more signs but see instead his eyes thinking as he speaks of roads Of another war, the roads divide, he says, the present is made of remembers Or this video 18 minutes younger in black and white Reading in the open air of beauty and beauty’s checks...