Sky train sliding on the rails, rattling snakes aching into the quiet night.
Corcovado is buried in her eyes as she crosses the desert of Vancouver.
The woman is alone with her own image and her past.
Memory of the cement made God, watching over the favelas
Chairs folded on a cart and negro pushing them across the sidewalk.
Inside the buildings of low ceiling, wealthy families wake up.
Hip-hop in the battery radio tied to his waist. Hot saudade
Nobody wants to come to this country, 2016 is the year of the change.
Astrology forecasts predict the fall of Brazil. They’re burning something.
It was really hot there, almost 39 degrees, the woman says back in Canada. Dois Irmãos
is not on The Globe and Mail
, only the Syrian who decide not to come.
The president refuses to listen to the Congress. There’s no law there, says the driver.