By AIRTON PASCHOA*

six short pieces

belfry
The valley dreams the plan.
The plan dreams the sky.
The sky dreams the sea.
The sea dreams the land.

The earth does not dream,
shelter the dreams,
earth lap and grave
and camp.

dvorak
the dream of the new world
with the old man
the new man's dream
with the old world
the new man and the new world
with the old dream

old dream
old dream
since the fall
of eden
from the womb

since the new life
the dream of new life
old life

in darkness
We come, come to glimpse and the interview, when not blinding or hallucinating, enter. It seems that by hand and not.

bird
this bird that sings in the morning
lonely
and will sing tomorrow and tomorrow until
the last moment this
bird whose name
got lost in the city smoke
anonymous
canary blackbird goldfinch sabiá saber
sun god sun
oh skullcap bird
salute the day for me
I too got lost in the fumes of age
save the day for me
and I have no other name to call

Baked black
To Mario
My brother is bench wise. He took advantage of the superficial deafness and came diving in silence. He attends all the sacred meetings, says little, drinks well and laughs in moderation. Tears, one or the other, furtive, when the son, musician and bird, Tiê, bleeds on the guitar “Assum preto”… or when the subject reverts to the old sister story, which sees sorta but can't avoá, blind just the same. With or without embargo, flight time, we call the uber.

Azia
It burns like a beam, like a torch. Time to ruminate, bitter, acidic, sour, the old taste of eternal return, more and more painful digestion, metabolic efforts, daily razia. Strangely comforting, extended, white that hurts, the towel – desire perhaps to stretch infinitely, to slide on the surface, to give everything a new meal.

*Airton Paschoa is a writer, author, among other books, of the life of penguins (Nankin, 2014).