São Tomé is her life
and just started
8 autumns I count
(for autumn is so rich
amarelo, vermelho, colorido,
like the flame in her eyes
like the bend of her lips
the curl of her hair
the youth of her hips)

and like a full, charmed moon
her brown face drawn
her eyes
a smile hung
in a corner of her lips
a feeble frown
she’s gonna be a sista’
and a lover
a natural
endemic of the island

out the window
from the corner of her eye
side-glancing impatiently
she’s not aware of herself yet
but gently
holds her hands together
like a wise
Melchior
wandering around the world