Paraiso não tem nome

Oh yes that little bee

would dive into my very sweet caipirinha
home made sugar cane liquor and all
– as much as others in little expresso cups –
with the same insistence
the exact same resilience and fate
always again 

and again
regardless of its contents

or of the failure carved in each attempt

In every single one of these
whilst I watched the coming back and forth waves
in anything slightly smelling like love
effortlessly shining like gold
even in every gray variation

which could not really be perceived

as either sea or sky

I would dive as well

I would have to however say
that at one sip
amidst changing growing tall waves
and children running

and grownups being brave and charming amidst the snow
– I mean the sand –
that I found it dead
very dead

sink
in my only sweet treat

my very own forgotten dreams