proposals for good fortune


I

finally—
another way of holding

this covering,

curled, familiar,

already loosening

do not return—
exhale

do not grip
past blood

the thread loosens,
draws itself out
through the wrist

do not keep it—
it turns inward,
refusing the hand

do not take a photo—
it sinks
behind the ribs


II

when I touched the stalk
it gave at once,
as if waiting

this one won’t keep:
purple bruising to black,
then thinning blue,
then a colour
the eye refuses

by the time I look again
it has turned
toward the ground

fine roots
press out
from the split


III

I saw you set it aside
on the ladder
with the others,
already softening

I thought of the colours

in your face

when you laughed—

I tried to fix them:

the ink spread,

would not stay

inside the line

I keep count—
twelve now,
each one arriving

after


IV

I heard it—
slow dripping below

I crossed the fields
because you said
I would find it there

clouds in the river,
the river inside them,
daisies opening,
closing, opening

in my pocket,
coins warming

against my leg

in the shade, I found it:
the opening

I lay flat
to see inside—
dark, not empty,
something shifting
against itself

then, straightening,

arm out—
I threw one in
it struck the walls,

kept striking—
the sound continuing

after


V

you asked me to be gentle
watch:
how she thins,
how she swells
how the body
does not end at the skin

not waning—
returning,

already returning

and tomorrow—
light

entering the same place again,
touching
what has opened,
what will not close


***

An earlier version of these poems was written to accompany Hugo Brazão‘s exhibition Happily Ever After at Balcony, Lisbon, February 2025. These versions incorporate revisions made after the initial exhibition presentation.