my walkie-talkie

.I believe in the power of the imagination to remake the world, to release the truth within us, to hold back the night, to transcend death, to charm motorways, to ingratiate ourselves with birds, to enlist the confidences of madmen. .I believe in my own obsessions, in the beauty of the car crash, in the peace of the submerged forest, in the excitements of the deserted holiday beach, in the elegance of automobile graveyards, in the mystery of multi-storey car parks, in the poetry of abandoned hotels.I believe in the forgotten runways of Wake Island, pointing towards the Pacifics of our imaginations. .I believe in the mysterious beauty of Margaret Thatcher, in the arch of her nostrils and the sheen on her lower lip; in the melancholy of wounded Argentine conscripts; in the haunted smiles of filling station personnel; in my dream of Margaret Thatcher caressed by that young Argentine soldier in a forgotten motel watched by a tubercular filling station attendant. .I believe in the beauty of

Deslizo da cama sem te acordar É cedo A primeira luz preenche o quarto Matinal Água fria no rosto Visto uma gabardina sobre o pijama E duas galochas nos pés Saio silenciosamente para o laranjal Um arrepio faz-me sorrir Levo um balde e apanho-as à chuva Pássaros cumprimentam-me Retribuo sem os ver Apanho laranjas para ti Na primeira manhã De tantas outras manhãs Cheiro cada uma antes de as deitar Cheiram a terra Cheiram a chuva Cheiram a céu Cheiram a memórias de infância E a café de cafeteira Volto para dentro Sinto o peso delas no balde Volto a sorrir Espremo-as com carinho Espirro Acho que te acordei Ainda não sei como gostas do café