segunda-feira, 23 de julho de 2012


In your dream we are separated by war
and after untold business somehow make our way
to the café where they keep that bright Sancerre.

It has taken half a lifetime. You in a windows eat
writing a letter, me at the window unable to make out
who it's for. You smile and sip your wine: Pouilly Fumé.

I have fifty blacks to hand which are really black
with a bit of this, if you look, and a bit of that.
I am saving the darkest dark for such a day.

David Harsent, Marriage, Faber & Faber, 2002.

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