Life, simply

Life, simply

Not when you want it
Not when you desperately, crazily,
look for it
Least of all when you ache for it
In the loneliest mornings,
The most abandoned hour

Life, simply
Awaiting you casually
in the booth of that diner

The layers slowly stripping
The effort, the struggle,
the insane awareness of itself

Life, simply
Not to be advertised,
Not a story to be told
(forgive the vanity of these words)

Rather, life simply lived
In sharing an avocado toast


Transfer of a foreign name

[San Tan Mountains, Arizona]

Don’t take me wrong: Arizona is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen.

Arizona, to the effects of this blog, is a metaphor. It is a state of mind, an inner landscape rather than a geography. Arizona is not a “place”.

Aristotle’s definition of metaphor as “transfer of a foreign name” is suitable. It is speaking about something in terms of something else.

Morning catalogue

[Pinakothek der Moderne, Munich]

Morning fog,
the always feared feature

A wasted ideia,
a fleeting sun ray
a foreign cry,
stuck in the throat

The day, persistent and naive
invites back:
8, 9, 10 o’clock.
The watch tic tacs
to the minutes melting
on the pavement outside.

– The world –
in my gasping chest
on the spots of my hand
In the ancestral fatigue


Our riches are plentiful

in that snug arm chair,
on the volumes sitting on the book shelf

The small opening in that couch
which shelters your arm
ever so snuggly:
this is opulence

The value
in that old cat,
lounged indolently
in the middle of the living room floor

Hold dear the familiar smells,
Your sweet hesitation.


Nossas riquezas sao muitas

O requinte esta
naquela poltrona
e na mesa dos livros

Naquela fresta do sofa
que cabe perfeitamente o teu braço.

O encanto se encontra
no acato
do olhar

No gato
espalhado indolente
no meio da sala

Nos cheiros familiares,
na tua doce hesitação

Our riches are many