a man sleeps beside me clutching half a lemon and i smoke half a cigarette,
for the fullness of the world exists only in the chapel i prayed in this morning (basilica da estrela) surviving off custard pastries and espressos
the pigeon named julio, pecks by my feet in a silly quest to discover what lurks below i tell him
‘julio, dearest – i will never find indignation at this rate’
he does not reply.
the radio is halfway between one station and the other the labyrinth of lisbon continues, till i am half
lost once more.
julio (or a different version of him) has followed me here, to cais do sodre –
where i dine on salty fish spaghetti,
and drop my head when the funeral processes julio stops his jagged movements of desire
we mourn together –
my pigeon and i