The verses

He recited Eliot. I let myself be overtaken by the coldness of the air. We didn’t look at each other. The loops of the dull breeze touched the bench and the two of us, dispirited. Birds pecked at the ground, unseen. The tree, sprinkled with white clashed with what was there between us. Everything around was strange to me. I asked him to recite again and he acquiesced. I feared that the verses would end. As if I could make them eternal, I leaned on him, gently, in an attempt to actualize an impossible embrace. He moved away, callously. He had poured himself out in order to move on. White flowers still covered drawings on the ground, disfiguring them. I brooded over the shadows that appeared. They laughed at my solitude and I at them, for their ineptness to listen to Eliot.

ARCOVERDE, Helena Sobral. The verses. In: blog Helena Arcoverde. Translation: SCHLEMM, Martha. Curitiba, 2013.