Look, we would have no reason to
open these windows of ours to the sun,
because sadness stuck his nose in
anteater and took from your soul
and mine the ants that danced,
the ones who laughed the most.
Yet here we are
kneading the family gods in the mud,
because you and I know
that in the storm is when
offers the sea
her intimate delicacies.
Look, this is my heart, you know, it's
capricious and moody, but it is also
the mirror where your soul is combed.
And where would I leave my fish
and my nets and my boats
if suddenly you who are my country
you fell into the barbarian hands of
laziness. Come, open these with me
windows. Let's sprinkle these with sugar
words. The dancing ants
They are born in your eyes.