Bianchi

When you first came to Suzuka,
it was loud and bellowing and screaming,
but you had your heart set on victory.
Wheeled your small suitcase silently
through typhoon kisses.

After all,
what was it for a boy with stars in his eyes
and purpose in his bones?

When you fastened your helmet,
I believed you could do miracles
in that red and white race car.
Make the circuit your green meadow
and glide through its walls
like you've known it for a thousand years.

When you first came to Suzuka,
a day before I stopped dreaming
unrepentant dreams,
rain descended harshly from the clouds
to the rooftops
onto the umbrellas
and straight over our hearts.

They've told me that when
your head hit the crane
you felt no pain
at all, but it hurts me to think
your final thought could've been:
"This is how it ends for me."

You didn't deserve
to be a technical mistake,
a twenty years old statistic,
a comparison.

Somewhere in the depths
of an unforgettable summer
where I came of age
you drew your last breath
and dreamt of the wind
running through your hair
and ended your adventure
hours before I started mine.

I hope the sun
never sets on your resting place
and that the vast pastures beyond the skies
offer a challenge
your restless mind
couldn't refuse.