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Poetry

What does God want
with so many stars
and black holes
in infinite space?

What is God’s plan
on rainy nights
when the wind blows
and topples the flowers?

In this dark empire
the gift of uncertainty
follows me through the forest.

Maybe I dreamed
the clearing
I saw in the trees.

 

Translated from the Portuguese by Jessica Goudeau


The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

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