Until Now

Seagull over the column of the Tagus, thinking of flying:
I submerge to your capital with its town soul
in the windows, always open to the miseries and feats
of each Portuguese party; your smell of grill in spring
and your colors sliding in the pupils.

Pure poetry stamped in your heart, between stairs without outfall,
we climb to the pulse of a guitar, reminding me of my home, today planting
wax over this floor, veiling over a place
that was and was not my house; like each corner,
helping me to stretch feathers, without burning in your climate,
learning to happily hum
melancholy.

You gave me the rhythm of a confident past-
and the passage still danced- with the key to nostalgia
deciding, me or the wind, to continue towards te sea; now the seagull
vanishes between the alarmed laughter of another story,
but I continue with mine: the door closed, but still wide
the windows are open.