After Pessoa


In the distance on the river

in the moonlight loom its sails.

In serenity it passes.

Just what is it it reveals?


I don't know but I'm not me

and the river isn't real

and the boat I think I see

and the night are how I feel.


And this love and hurt that mean

who knows what, they never say,

are the boats that always leave

and the nights that always stay.


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