Poem

One Forms to Feel You

The clock tower watches me wander
around the center of the city
in the clinging heat of late September.
The tower glows in sunlight, leaves
shadows as black as the inside of an eyelid.
My breath collapses in the parched air,
dirt and dust settling on the cobbled street.
I stop to reset myself in a café. Red wine
crackles down my throat and for the first time
I smell the windless ocean, hear the murmur
of waves. The clock tower chimes
at the hour. In the waves of memory
and heat, I see you arrive and the tower
shimmer and lose all linear shape. You
wave to me as if you have known me
all of my life, “Se você é mais do que
minhas mãos podem sentir; Se você
é mais do que eu ousei ter só pra mim…”*
I sniff my wine, take a sip. The tiled roof
of the tower falls away like fluted scallop
shells, the plaster walls melts away
like cream cheese. The clock tower’s face
rolls back and forth as if in an earthquake,
leaps from the tower wall, zooms and soars
above the city like a flying carpet disc,
stopping only for me. I grab the hands,
my dark red lips kissing the wind
then the face of the clock until we rise
over the city. It is a fast ride, a slow spin.

*From ‘Mais’ by Cáh Morandi