Everytime we say goodbye

Eu sou o caminho e um peregrino e todas as velas que alguma vez se fizeram ao mar
in As Pontes de Madison Country

(France, here I come)

II
Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes,
I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it,
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.

The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless,
It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

The smoke of my own breath,
Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine,
My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs,
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,

The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies of the wind,
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides,
The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun.

Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much? have you reckon'd the earth much?
Have you practis'd so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,)
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.

Walt Whitman, Canto de Mim Mesmo

My wonder

"O sete é um número mágico. Há sete dias numa semana, sete maravilhas do Mundo, sete cores no arco-íris, sete notas numa escala. Cada período lunar dura sete dias e e o mês lunar 28 (quatro vezes sete).
Hipócrates defendia que O número sete, através das suas virtudes ocultas, conserva tudo na Natureza. Administra a vida e o movimento. Influencia até os seres celestiais. "

in Reader's Digest, Julho de 2002

D'este viver aqui neste papel descripto

Ela vem "ver o que escrevi todos os dias para saber como é que estou, embora não diga nada". Por isso deixo aqui uma frase para que a leia, e nunca se esqueça que me terá sempre a seu lado.

Vivemos tanta coisa juntos que é isso que ponho debaixo da cabeça, como um travesseiro, para poder dormir. Lobo Antunes

Just like heaven

"Aqueço-me com isto. Ao seu calor
O nosso sangue é um e amadurece
Boa-noite meu amor.
Boa-noite, que amanhece."
Pedro Támen