The friend and I
Lost in a wind of birds changing seasons
In an alley of skinny trees and warm patches of sun
A priest and his black robe happily fly behind a ball

The friend and I
We wait for the car and everyone together waits alone
And the girls laugh fresh like bunches of lettuce
A line on the blue skin of the sky and heads raised like sunflowers

The friend and I
At the terminus of usual sleepy people
And the retirees fold the newspaper, big bottoms and little calves
At the market stalls, women with quick and colorful pieces of fabric

The friend thinks of his home
In a month he has to leave
And in every lived corner
He leaves a thorn of nostalgia

Tomorrow we will lengthen our steps
Each behind his fortune
And we will throw glances and stones
To catch the moon

Tomorrow we will have another face
And a city waiting outside
And we will hold in our arms
Remnants of loves

The friend and I
A small bar of cheerful, bored, bitter boys
The last tail of a stray among the construction sites of new buildings
A teacher plays in the courtyard smaller than her students

The friend
And a single window to contain the whole world
And a mirrored wardrobe with paper and memories inside
He calms his heart with his hand that, from using it so much, becomes round

The friend makes coffee
And deep down he knows inside himself
That it will never be the same again
He studies his shoes and the road where it is

Tomorrow there will be other people
Different eyes and voices
And a heart to mark the slow hours
And the fast years

Tomorrow we will go a little faster
We will catch our breath
Inside another cigarette
And tomorrow is gone

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