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no hope

I stop in front of a cabinet portfolio

on the Avenue of Our Lady of Copacabana, Sunday,

while the twilight is unleashed on the neighborhood.

no hope

I wait.

In the crowd that comes and goes

and in and out of bars and cinemas

does your face and disappears

in a flash

and heart fire.

See you in a restaurant,

in the waiting line, blue

're running a car, on foot

cross the street

mirage

finally breaks through the evening on buildings

and vanishes into the clouds.

The city is great

has four million people and you are one.

Somewhere you at this time, still or walking,

perhaps in the next block on the beach may

perhaps converse in a distant bar

or on the balcony of that building across

maybe you're coming to meet me, without you knowing,

mixed with the people I see along the avenue.

But what hope! I have

one chance in four million.

Ah, if only you were a thousand

disseminated through the city.

The night trade stands

in the constellations of the avenue.

no hope

I press

and my heart is saying your name

drowned by the roar of the engines

led by smoke from burning gasoline.

(On the street).

Gullar.