These Days

These Days

These days

remind me of last year's

days. The wind

pushing shutters out

of place, the warmth of late

summer blending with soft light and

the flies, in their black greedy costume

always sniffing after each last

chance of life

This predictable countdown

leaves me sad – the kind

of sadness you'll find

only in dreams

when all your emotional actions are

doomed in tameness -

and on the verge of a telluric

chasm

Stupidly

I wish I could be

somewhere else, like on

a boat crossing a sea

of swash before dashing

against new cities

yet

not far up in the mountain

a lonesome deer sheds

its long mating

call

Not far from now

as nights grow

longer, elements will

settle on proper ground

and so will

I.

© 2016, José Coelho