Last poem by Sebastião Alba

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In these unguarded places

 high above, clean in the air

like the mouths of tombs,

what use is it for us to polish more symbols?


What good is it now for the roofs

to channel the waters of screams

and sweep the sky with them

(or with the beams of moonlight that we send back)? Is it the last biblical


flight of the dove or not ? That without a horizon we await her in our ark where the rotten branches of hope have accumulated for millennia .

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