still a little in front of Lily. The fourth wire. The fourth wire was black. Black as pitch. Black as m orte. And Lily was alive would have been afraid even to approach. But Lily was dead. Lily was a ghost. It was no longer afraid of death because the death of reading, she knew, or at least so he thought. But he realized immediately that the fourth wire could hold some surprises, because while continuing to fluctuate felt heavy as lead. She seemed to be grounded even if the soft soil of the lawn was over there, far from his feet and so far that if Lily had a body you would still casts its shadow, as it makes a big cloud in the sky that passes . Lily did not expect to have to read the death of dreams and illusions. But it was what he did. Because even the ghosts have a destiny and that Lily was to read the stories they wove on the great spider's web. And who knows if it was a spider in writing, the great mother of all spiders that had caressed with phobic insistence, calling back his life every time he seemed to try to get away from her. Until the last final defeat, when even the spiders had to raise the white flag and surrender to death.
And what Lily had read the smell of a path known only beings night and the words were quiet, as something that says the head of a deaf man.
Orc I heard the laughter and the moon is off, as I climbed to the top of the bald
hill on that path of round stones that make count more
the will to reach the top of the steps that you make.
hill on that path of round stones that make count more
the will to reach the top of the steps that you make.
It was not the moon lit the way for me, 
was Orc pallor of the face.
It was not the moon was out,
had his mouth open in laughter dark.
And they were not stars, those who now saw shine nel buio, erano i denti dell'Orco.
L'Orco che ingoia i sogni portati dalle civette.
L'Orco che ride delle illusioni.
E mentre scendevo dal sentiero di sassi rotondi,
non contava più la mia volontà.
Ma contavano i passi che facevo.
Quando arrivai a valle non mi voltai a scrutare
il cielo sul colle.
l'Orco ancora rideva.
E mi feci inghiottire dalla notte sulla strada come fosse un mantello che mi copriva le spalle.
La storia del quarto filo si spense come se ogni altro suono fosse possibile, da allora in poi, in un altro mondo. Ma mai più nel mondo di Lily.
was Orc pallor of the face.
It was not the moon was out,
had his mouth open in laughter dark.
And they were not stars, those who now saw shine nel buio, erano i denti dell'Orco.
L'Orco che ingoia i sogni portati dalle civette.
L'Orco che ride delle illusioni.
E mentre scendevo dal sentiero di sassi rotondi,
non contava più la mia volontà.
Ma contavano i passi che facevo.
Quando arrivai a valle non mi voltai a scrutare
il cielo sul colle.
l'Orco ancora rideva.
E mi feci inghiottire dalla notte sulla strada come fosse un mantello che mi copriva le spalle.
La storia del quarto filo si spense come se ogni altro suono fosse possibile, da allora in poi, in un altro mondo. Ma mai più nel mondo di Lily.
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