In the autumnal warmth
a scent of chestnuts
waft down the streets
of Lecce when while they burn
you can hear them crackling
among steaming ashes
and glowing coals.
Sour and strong is the smell
with his grey smoky swirls,
to which my fantasy
gives life and color,
and it calls to mind
the demons, the angels and the saints
of the baroque churches.
