Lisbon in autumn, apt to be cloudy
The streets were dirty, tedious, lukewarm
When at times all the clouds drifted away
You could see the blue of the sky, even at night
The walls were chipped away, blue and white
Arabic azulejos' perfection, ripe with age
Isn't this a wonder that I should
Sit with an Angolan classicist (Latin poetry)
In the lecture theater of the Faculdade de Letras
Da Universidade de Lisboa?
The window frame, sideways long
Cut the clouds
The same clouds cut by the sunshine, soldiers
Last night I saw an immense moon
Hanging on the avenue called "Liberty"
Now that was like Buenos Aires in 1984
The cemetry of Recoleta
White stones
Green candles
Girls in white
With white German shepards
And a luxurious green car
It was also a tepid
Blood-scented evening
In mid-summer, December.
