When you talk to me of saudade
I smile a little. Do you expect me
to write of saudade when I am
marinating in it all the time?

I simmer in a saudade stew.
the spices cling on —
the alchemy of heat
infuses me in remembrance

Every glance in every corner
brings me back to sometime
earlier when the world was
just a little bit newer.

Moments return in spools
like cannisters of film
a bit faded, but the soft focus
soothes until the celluloid
burns it all away.
and only whirring and a bright light