MORNING Poem by Gastão Cruz

This morning
today
is a name
Fiama, 'New Boats'
That's how the morning is, a name
for the world, opening one's eyes like
someone who is speaking
May time or
diurnal death
give to open eyes the nothingness of words

And so the sun will be
the silence in a look or a hand
upon a forehead
that brings the eyelids down
as if the fingers were giving to the head the truth
hidden in that nothingness

and the morning were coming
not like a vast shadow to clothe the body's
voice
but to cover it with
the light
of the words that are not there