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I love the stones on the brook bed they are clean sins shining in the stream they are dived liquid stars sun-shinning water projects them right now against our look and there they are washed exactly in the same position making

by João Silva (represented at Art Gallery / Espaço AmArte), oil on canvas Time of evolution is not yet coming Man continues to exhaust the cosmos till Himself becomes a dead spaceship endlessly traveling towards God. /// Não é chegado o

Fresh air cleans my toxins and conscience at run rhythm under the puff of each expiration the weight of all banquets and whiskeys is inexorable in the Park of Monsanto sweat glides from my face to the shadows' path where

Smoke of fogs at the island steaming on the grey ocean now green under a sun of fire smoking on waters I think seated on the island that wakes up far away murmurs. Fumo de névoas na ilha que fumega no

Avenida da República, II The noises repeat themselves in the avenue and also the light as yesterday the traffic's death rattle in the lane the steps' drag on the sidewalk the talks' murmur at the outdoor coffee shop the exposed navels