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the power of the landscape corrupts the text, it penetrates its frailty. the game of the tactile, of the glowing, of the scenic tension of your name – so tense is it, that it isn’t displayable – but i can always display this photograph, not on walls as in times past, but i can still ingrain it into your subconscious through the feed of your wall on one of those social networks where there’s no place for debate since each person is the dictator of his own reality, which might even be convenient were we able to be solely confronted by that which doesn’t shock us. let me rejoice with the power to see you and the power to know you see me, thus i am an image, i am fleshy matter, i am back and shoulders and eyelids, i exist because light exists. allow me to upload this existence directly into the deepest memory of your libido. it’s probably simpler. words are the business of poets. © Translated by Ana Hudson, 2013 First Published on Poems From the Portuguese