#423 Untitled

I can surrender to life,
I can sleep,
I can forget myself.

I record the memory with a smile,
and don’t even comment on the smile.

Once or twice I’ve made the trip,
nervous the whole way,
setting my foot on dry land only after I’d returned.

I realized,
in an inner ash,
that I’m no one.

I’ve created various personalities within.

Because today I’m I,
and tomorrow it’s possible that he’ll have never existed.

Against my breast you won’t even feel the
love that prompted you to come and seek it.

Hour of blessings: your soft,
frail hands.

—Ricardo Reis, O Phosphoro