mort mot juste

março 13, 2008

the sea beyond us

there are no fishermen, no battle ships,
no English sails, no eventful times
coming our way, which is the way
of the seaside.

(we are ready and armed cap-à-pie
in case those times decide to come,
and to assure they will not dare,
we kill some time over here and there)

the wide and navy-hued forgiveness
ripples in front of us with letters and symbols
filling pages with many a word
that we could never distinguish.

and we,
the paperweights of the sandy coast,
we leave our footprints in the shoremud
at this very moment with no history in it,
no truth nor lyric,
no poetry nor turmoil;
and then we rehearse
the following steps.

the wind and our distemper
troubles the tide, puncutually
at this dead hour
day after day
we come together as a part of
the same wonderful aquatic stillness,
feeding thoughts to fish and watching
those get swallowed by bigger
fish.

we- the sum of each other's parts,
even the ones gone missing-
stand and melt
beneath the flame thrower
of the tropic.

blessed by the dropping eyes
of heaven, that never allow
the ocean to dry,
we bear the duty of pacing
daily along the shore

and now our feet are touching the
water,
and we are receiving its bountiful
substance,
and the immaterial stream
is flowing from within ourselves
into the endless extension of the
sea beyond us.

maria 3:06 PM 1 vociferando estavam



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