Na Primeira Manhã

The first morning I lost you
I woke up more tired than alone
Like a count talking to the birds
Like a bumba-meu-boi without a captain
And I moaned like the grove moans
Like the breeze coming down from the hills
Like someone who loses their balance and goes crazy
Like an ox in the middle of a crowd

The second morning I lost you
It was too late to be alone
I crossed streets, roads and paths
Like a car driving in the wrong direction
From the corner of the mouth in a whisper
I made a fearful, absurd song
The widowers' nightly lament
Like a cat moaning in the basement
Loneliness