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A shoal of sardines
bathes over the glazed tiled streets
of Lisbon,
the moon and lanterns here
are of pasteis de nata
colour and texture.
On Praça do Comércio
(the second largest square
in the European continent,
after, the Russian one, of course, –
The Palace Square embracing the Hermitage)
the fish stay low
to watch the women, whales and Venus –
the volume, vocal, the volcanic! –
things that swim through our heads –
the Aristotelian lower senses
stand firm
against the common sense,
even against imagination.
The ocean is the voice,
here – in Lisbon,
never indifferent, often something
you haven’t heard before,
while the Earth stays numb,
nothing is fixed,
your hand is slipping away
when I want to clutch on to it,
although a desire
“to feel the naked smile on me”
is full
and filled,
“I have within me
the dreams of all the world”,
whispers the poet Pessoa.