Isilda Nunes, Portugal

 And us?

In the nonchalance of the diffuse dawn,

Poseidon foams.

Humanity sinks.

From oceanic madness

irrationality emerges

in ethyl odours.

Inebriation.

Incoherence.

Alienation.

Disformed waves

obscure the would-be dawn.

And us?

In paper boats we try to survive.

***

I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY 

I don't know what to say  

when my gaze rests on your lap

and crosses, impudently, 

the autumn borders,

like the last ray of summer. 

I dare to turn, silently, the key 

and transpose the translucent mornings 

of my feverish body,

to mitigate the thirst, 

In the vintage I dream.

And in this healthy madness, 

I touch the stars to offer them to you,

one by one, 

protractedly, 

in soft caresses, 

at the dawn's threshold.