Monday, February 2, 2009

I come from around Beja.
I'm going to the center of Lisbon.
I'm not bringing anything and won't find a thing.
I feel the exhaustion I anticipate from what I won't find.
And my yearning comes not from the past or the future.
In this book I have inscribed the image of my dead design:
I was, like the grasses, and never uprooted.

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