I WRITE

I write after sundown
at home.
I write
about the morning
when I listened
to the sound of the lime
or to the fire,
and only you
said my name.
I write
to experience again
the taste of the first mouth
I kissed trembling.
I write
to climb up
to the sources.
And to be born again.

EUGÉNIO DE ANDRADE, PORTUGAL 1923 – 2005
Translation Germain Droogenbroodt – Stanley Barkan