It took
All of my
Willpower
Not to grab
Your hand.

Your look
In your eye
Made me warmer;
Like a stab
Of sunshine.

-m.b

some people have their heads in the cloud because they're falling stars
some people dance in the rain because they can't take shelter

i'm not watering down your fight
i'm not burying my might

some days you ask where this plane is going and some days you realize you're on a train
most days you don't

how free are you?
does it matter?

Where I live there is no real summer it is period
with too much heat till it gets cold and damp
which last seven months and is called winter.
This land with a hot sun and icicle shadows
casting a spell of misery on us and it is the time
of the year when the old people die in mass.
Tourists come here in bus, train and planes, not for the culture that has been watered down
like bacalao rinsed to many time before cooking
loses its flavour, and Fado reduced to irrelevance

They – tourists- sit in the sun on the beach getting
a tan, yet there are a few days in May when there
is a summer with green leaves and grass, and death
is something old people can joke about.

My hardest goodbye was actually to your dog.

lichen shrouded logs
laid still on the forest's floor
their bones rotting