It's night-time in the morning Poem by Manuel Gusmão

It's night-time in the morning:
you get out of bed

Morning and night, forever at odds,
instead of seeing each other in the mirror
cause it to shatter into itself

but they hear each other in the rooms of the house

Suddenly there you are at the end of the hallway
I feel for a moment your black face
and the vastness of your nocturnal body

you hand me the morning
slowly
like a phosphorescent map

where we would surely die