Ossídio Gaspar

The same metaphors, but now I am in love

Sometimes, on the day that makes the day,

A reason that does not explain itself, a wave

That has nowhere to encounter, makes it

To the shore, leans over the island and

Turns it up-side-down, under the world.


On the day that is that day, a flood that

Does not look like a flood, convenes around

The space it turns into an insular mound,

Resetting the horizon above and below the

Water, taking it up from the ground.


Where a day could be, but is not, before and

After a day, it is sometimes the time of the days

The ocean that covers a peninsula, unfinished,

Of an emergence that whets the whole

To the self-surprise of its own size.


This day is more than the days, it is

Unbegun, and therefore must behave

Watered and unfulfilled, but it must be

Bigger than the island of before, but never

As big as the ocean it knows now.


Today is a day of days, where the beach

Reclines under the humidification, made up

Of sands helpless with the old examples of

Eroded versions of what it would have been,

Had it lived forever as such, unperturbed.


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