Alma Novaes & The Gift

 

Story of a shelter (Merry Christmas, Faustino) Memories come and go, sometimes incandescent, red-hot, cheerful, joyful teenagers, others, who live and linger in the temporal hemisphere full of snow, fear and cold, orphaned already, my lost hero, I meet you, always and often, in memories without a future, Sitting on the wall, My darling, stroking a cat, mumbling graces, breathing joys, Innocent and old, stealing a kiss from me or, simply, Stoning the puddle of water and, provoking waves in my thought, We, eternal children, in my blue wellies that splash without making a dent, as you pull and push me from childhood miss us, that age, in which dreaming was absolutely obligatory, and imperial, of your sideways gaze, from the locks of your dark hair, of your smiling gaze, Today, in this rare time, a bit of winter, I smile, after all, God is present, and I, again teenager in the backyard, next to the wall, I open you as to a dream, which wants to be real. And an dream, which is meant to be real.

And before you forget me, let you get lost

In more storms of life, I go and follow

postcard, hidden forwarder,

and as it is for you that I write,

I want you to read,

Close the door, open the subscript, read me slowly

and keep me in thy bosom, like this,

Which owl guarding nest