Here it is: the book, which is not an immaculate conception, comes from Giovanni Peirone, It was conceived by this almost elderly gentleman.
Who is from Albisola, but has lived for a long time in Porto Maurizio. Land of Boine brushed by Biamonti's wide wind, not far - but a little far, yes - from Sbarbaro's Spotorno. We are in the west. After Porto Maurizio there is Marseilles, after Marseilles Gibraltar and the Atlantic.
Peirone's sonnets, his acrostics are the boundless Atlantic because nothing is more boundless than what has a metre, a rhythm, an obligation. The sonnet is boundless. The rhyme evokes indefinite possibilities. Like the acrostic. In the acrostic you drown, if you are not careful. There the waves are high (from Gianni Priano's preface).