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The Diver

ice skater Johnny Weir

diver

of you love her long legs ,

childish, slow,

auctions take

sweet

spirals that adolescents go up

endless

exact touch and shudder.

Di te amo arms

young

spanning trusting

my imbalance

hands unveiling,

hands multiplying

accompanying quickly darkened my swimming.

I love your lap full of shadow

slow-wave and solitary,

where the sea is becoming exhausted,

where sink up to break my heart,

and love drowning

and cry.

of you love the big eyes,

probe where the dark abyss of my anxiety,

to discover in the arcane

under the ocean oceans.

of you love her more than they can say

my word

and my sadness.

Vinicius de Moraes

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Invisible Cities

Invisible Cities

A Chloe, great city, the people who pass through the streets you do not know. At each imagine a thousand things about each other, the meetings could take place between them, conversations, surprises, caresses, bites. But no one greets anyone; eyes lock for a second and then dart away, seeking other eyes, do not stop.
A girl twirling a parasol on her shoulder, and slightly also her rounded hips. Passes a lady in black comes along, showing her years, her eyes restless beneath her veil, her lips trembling. A tattooed giant, a young man with white hair, a dwarf, two twins, dressed in coral. Something runs between them, an exchange of glances like lines that connect one figure with another and draw arrows, stars, triangles until all combinations are gone in a flash, and other characters enter the scene: a blind man with a cheetah on a leash, a courtesan with an ostrich feather fan in an adolescent, a woman-cannon. So between those who happen to find themselves together, taking shelter from the rain under the porch, or crowded under a tent in the bazaar, or stopping to listen to the band in the square, meetings, seductions, copulating, orgies, no one touches it with a finger, almost without looking up.
A voluptuous vibration constantly stirs Chloe, the most chaste of cities. If men and women began to live their ephemeral dreams, every phantom would become a person with whom to begin a story of pursuits, pretenses, misunderstandings, on the impact of oppression, and the carousel of fantasies would stop.

From "Invisible Cities" by Italo Calvino.

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Impressions

be created, generated,

transform ' love in the flesh and the flesh in love

born, breathe, and cry,

and sleep and eat

to cry in order to feed themselves;

and wake up one day and see the light,

the world and listen and

begin to love and then smile and

then smile to cry

and grow and learn, and be, and take and lose,

and suffer, and have to be horror and love,

and feel cursed and forget everything

when a new love and live this love

to death and combining the infinitive ...

Vinicius de Moraes

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not been a month ...
And the words have slipped without my realizing it ...
I was still a child ... with the desire to do, grow up and get by on her own.
This possibility was given to me by a wonderful man who not only made me believe I could do it, I was spurred on, but took care not to make me understand what was giving me. How
support. How much support. Not only material ...
Hailed in his house. As I was a child.
I remember one day ... I was a little low and he was not much about going to see a show that is the perspective of a bore. He invited me. We went together.
an aperitif. We talked a lot. We talked about me, him, the future.
We went to the theater. I'd never been in that theater. It was really nice. With a style from the 900. Not so nice was the show, during which, on his instructions, I could not wake him in time to make everyone realize the other his snoring ...
E 'was really a tremendous spectacle. It 'was a really nice evening.
Chatter from the balcony where we moved. Then a walk under the moon of Rome to the car, the croissants before returning home.
went back with a light heart and a thanks a man who made me feel loved as a daughter.
A hard ... the next day .... I wake up in the melody of a Café du Paris ...
entered the kitchen and he is there, in his kingdom to cook ... so much chaos, as always, but the music makes everything magical.
I love this cd ... I love having a bit of a man so big and that has meant so much in my life, even if the largest piece remains in the love that I wanted, and what I wanted him.
The mountain walks, go to fungi, the songs, the guitar, his "ah, however, his desire to protect those who love even when there is none the need, the bowl of tomatoes and grains at 9 am that brings fun, the political fervor with tomato jelly, his "boys, I love you." His pain that I have not seen. The pain that I was not able to here.
I've really loved. Do you want more.
Hello Victor.

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friends ...

I have friends who do not know what are my friends.

not receive all the love I feel for them or what are necessary for me.

Friendship is a noble sentiment of love. This causes the object to be divided between his other emotions, while love is essential jealousy, which admits of no rivalry.

I could bear, though not without pain, the death of all my loves, but go crazy if my friends all died!

Even those who do not understand how my friends and how much my life depends on their existence ...

not try some of them, I just know they exist. This simple condition encourages me to continue my life. But just because they are not seeking diligently, I can not tell them how much I love them. They do not believe me.

Many of them now reading this "chronic" does not know that they are included in the sacred list of my friends. But it's nice that I know and feel that I love them, even if you do not declare them and do not try.

And sometimes, when I try them, I notice that they do not have the slightest notion of what I needed to be, to what are essential to balance my life, because they are part of the world that I have laboriously constructed and have become the pillars of my fascination with life.

If one of them dies I be wrong.

If I die all collapse.

E 'for this reason that, unbeknownst to them, I pray for their lives.

And I am ashamed because my prayer is ultimately directed to my own welfare. It is perhaps the result of my selfishness.

Sometimes I find myself thinking hard about some of them. When I travel and I am in front of wonderful places, I drop a tear because they are not with me to share that pleasure ...

If something consumes me and I grow old is furious because the wheel of life will not allow me to always have with me while I talk, while walking, living, all my friends, and especially those who only suspect that perhaps will never know are my friends.

A friend does not, it is recognized.

Vinicius De Moraes