Eugénio de Andrade

1923-2005 / Fundão

The syllable

All morning I was searching for a syllable.
It's very little, that's for sure: a vowel,
a consonant, practically nothing.
But I feel its absence. Only I know
how much I miss it.
That's why I searched for it so stubbornly.
Only it could shield me from
January cold, the drought
of summer. A syllable.
A single syllable.
Salvation.

Translation: Alexis Levitin
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