metade

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