Southern
Memos, I
Night
falls
there
is no wind, the salt
quiets
the body;
as
I gather the leftovers
and
blow away
the
sand between
my
fingers
I
notice, some grains remain
stubbornly
smug -
conversations
sticking
to
the surface becoming slender
marks
in one´s future
There's
so much I still must
know!
©
2016, José Coelho
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