As in any other labyrinth, these street corners
only make sure that there are no certainties
on the road to the future. But that I knew already
on the other side of the mountains where it’s common
to feel spied on when walking through
the most discreet pine forest.
Lisbon has never been as I had once imagined it.
And nevertheless I come here on the customary
peregrination, having however no idea what I am to pray for.
Indecisions of faith and of its minute leaver
which, inordinately, we call heart.