In this forest of deceit, in this absence,
In the gray haze of distance,
In the long corridor of false doors.
Nothing is done of everything, and nothing
A living body is immediately populated,
Like islands of sleep that among the mist
They float, in the memory that comes back.
In me I miss you, I say, when the night
on the mouth comes to place the seal
the enigma that, said, resurrects
And he wraps himself in the fumes of secrecy.
In twists and turns that darkened me,
in the blind palpate with open eyes,
What is the great door of the labyrinth,
Where is the sun, the right steps?
In me I lose you, I insist, I flee from you,
In me the crystal melts, it shatters,
But when the tired body breaks
In you I overcome and save, in you I find myself.
– Jose Saramago –
satomipoema 