Letter from Dakar
beginning with a line by Fernando Pessoa
It is night. It’s very dark. In a house far away
a red sun has drained into the sea.
From the city I left, the cold changed direction
over continents, became a season of heat
in a single night. I don’t remember a time
of departure, the titles of books I intended
to bring, or the last meal I ate. Palm leaves
prowl the walls. The only light comes from
the nearest shore where piles of garbage
are lit on fire, flames bright and …
