This night passes by like a mad highway of warm cracks.
I have been waiting for the remembrance of a summer cotton tree
and its wind of old childhood.
Thoughts makes us forget our faraway train,
our missing escape to finite oblivion.
Tonight I can hear the whistle blow,
I can give my fears to a invisible tremble.
As the mystery vanishes and the inevitable shines through the painted curtain,
each poetry becomes a station in uprooted wilderness…
You get one you live one,
you get two you live two,
and you get none you live none.
Tonight I can’t miss the train,
the tracks are too tough to leave with the smoke.

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Photograph: Eduardo Oliveira.