Best of August 2015


I decided to pick someone else’s words to be my best of August. Because I think it’s a first, the idea seduces me. I had four days to pick just a few lines portraying my feelings these last days of winter 2015. This is the result:

The descending night makes me feel so old
(with stardust muddying my face
and a breath of salt in my mouth
and in my fingers a forgotten contour),

and when you arise exactly
the same as it is written in my memory,

my eyes pierce you
(without sorrow
with the serenity of a limitless solitude)

and I ask:
why smiling?

Glória de Sant’Anna