I am satisfied
with my daily bread
a pinch of salt
a cup o’joe
a little touch of you at night.
A sweet dream while resting on sleep’s shoulder
drifting on sleep’s shore
a short doze, a light sleep
awakened by the keening of gulls
and the clanging of buoy bells.
Suddenly you and I
are dancing in Brazil
in the tavern by the sea
where Donga made the samba
dancing to the rhythms from Angola, from Luanda.
Apollo risng o’er Corcovado
you wave to me from a yellow shore; beckoning
like the banner of a free country
“Venha para mim!”
throwing a kiss across the water.
My shirt is wet;
which one of us was weeping?
Only the night shirt knows