When a brick is thrown
And history is reinvented,
The rhythm of languorous afternoons
Breaks down.
We pick up the threads,
And make a leap of faith
Into the turbulent calypso of the present.

We have lived under the stairs
Of white palaces long enough.
Need space, flowers, words,
A corner to ourselves
Suffused with golden light
Where the dead navigate with ease
As shapes that come from fog,
And conversation won’t suffocate
Or acquire the false notes of a confession.

Play like a melody.
Retain that enigmatic smile,
And continue to wear beauty
Like a casual garment.

The bells clang, sunset shivers.
Below the damp restaurant terrace
Bees climb green walls
Among the vines that cling and suck.

Come watch the red sun descend, fragrant.
Dance, dance any way you want,
Unaware of your audience,
Under the emerging implacable stars.