Let’s pretend that we live in two worlds at the same time.
A simultaneous life—we’re just pretending, you see.
In one world is a lot of smog, dirty water and bad breath.
In the other simultaneous world
love lasts forever, and we all have good skin.
Singing happens as often as eating in this place.
One world: sadness. One world: joy.
I’m told they exist together in this poem and wind around,
fold through each other like a moebius strip.
What tips the balance? How do we hold the
two worlds in one hand? I’m thinking
of a fast train moving in two directions
and here’s a golden ticket in my hand.
The promised land is under my feet.
I go to meet my expectations
who live in a vast and heavily
forested region of Brazil,
where the air is sweet,
and no chain saw has ever been seen.