He says it is basically twelve notes: twelve notes that encapsulate everything.

That may be true, but without detracting from the music, it is the words that make the real difference.

So many words, a lifetime long.

Words that tell stories, words that describe emotions, words that stop moments, his, mine, ours.

Who doesn’t know the famous “outdoor café tables”!

Not to mention the guy who “carefully reads the instructions on the coffee machine” …

And again:

A hair-raising coffee
a packet of smoke
and the wind re-reading my paper
and tomorrow going out again, putting on a cheerful face
for the next carnival
a razor-cold pain
for another day that dawns
I die

Really coffee can make your hair stand on end.

A phosphorescent madonnina
and fake flowers above the dresser
looking for pantyhose distracted and indolent
and one more day in the mirror
the refrigerator snored from the kitchen
and you hummed making coffee
the long sadness of the morning

Do you hum when you make coffee?

A bustle of voices and faces the color of the streets outside
that loses some haste among the coffees and liquors
if your heart had windows I could jump in them
and have you find it all in pieces when you returned

I absolutely love the concept of “losing haste” with coffee!

And never again the chimneys
the sirens the city
the wet gates and warehouses
of mist and humidity …
and never again sit in the cafeteria
among melancholy and mashed potato
the chain the tape the days that go away
with the coffee cart ...

I could almost say it’s the Lomellina. 

Nights in the car talking
the low glass for smoking
nights of old songs still good to sing
nights as dark as an oven
sleepless nights before a great day
hard nights of illusions
long dark nights of coffee …

Old songs still good to sing … it really is.

Songs I would say more lived than old, songs to sing together, during a concert.

Twelve notes were the birthday gift from my brother.

By a curious chance the number twelve recurs, he would surely make a pun of it.