The city

of herself to herself
with words replacing the veins,
the city gravitates
in the sensitive fragments of verbs.
a night movement
lives on the highest floors
of solitude.
the great city rushes
in the convocation of men
that are lost and found
in the same space.
the hot age of the earth
dies in my hands as I pass
this sad bridge
which will connect you with Setúbal.
you could not pay
the houses I sell
not even if you double your existence.
the shingles linger in my eyes
remembers the crackling sound
of your presence.
I love to laugh today.

English Version first appeared at Spittoon Collective

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