flor you who are not a flower my
love sweetheart minha querida meu
amor: rise up.
grow up faz-te feita if you know o que é
melhor for you. you know the land, the
smell of the sun eating grass e o som
seco da história seco como um punch
and/or a kick in the ribs.
remember the warning – don't go near

the rio, lie to the priest, don't count your
galinhas antes the eggs hatch.
remember that the dark soil will not last
for longer than three days of rain, and
you know (tu sabes) you know (voz
sabeis!) what manner of horrors happen
under the embroidered sky, under the
tutela e autoridade of the cleanest
sunlight.
there is no church safe from the church,
no abismo too deep to avoid os lobos
howling with the dead voices of dead
packs. now the lynxes are dead or
domesticados.
(nearly all)
not even the hares
selvagens remain (oxalá!)

oxalá¹.

e you que are a thing nothing at all like
a flower you know (voz sabeis) either
get out or learn how to outlast the sol.
this is not a place of renewed life or holy
sombreados; remember the pedras
where the lies hide,
and don't forget (i know, grandma, i
know) que a tua avó warned you.

⸺