love poem to myself

“Sometimes I spend half the night
answering the emptiness, hoping it is you. Memory is just
another form of imagination. Now the glasses are empty.
A future flies into the rafters. Daylight leaks into my dream.
Eventually I may have to write a love poem to myself”

Richard Jackson, from “Having a Drink with the Gods,” Heartwall

buraco negro

solestício

no meio

o cisne

Leda and the Swan - Peter Paul Rubens

caramelo

the waiting game

"Oh, it's a long, long while from May to December
But the days grow short when you reach September
When the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame
One hasn't got time for the waiting game"