It Was from a Morphological Time
I have the idea of a first home,
a worn womb with no number on the door.
There was also a tree, first and singular,
from which Eve plucked the fruit.
A heavy rain poured down on us,
separating our light from our darkness.
Then came the Men, very old,
as if wearing heavy masks
to hide their true age and their true sins.
Precarious in almost everything,
they returned from where they came,
stoking fire for the very pregnant women,
defying the swift advance of the seasons.
And I, facing the sun,
write of good and evil—
and from that moment, I awaken.
(Almada)
