The waste of saudades

Metaphoria: the waste of saudades I How much waste do I carry in words? I think on the envelopes, hiding infamous love letters or on the receipts, accounting for instants of grief. II Fly away and don't look back, said God to Lot, but his wife (to whom no given name had been given, nor to her daughters) disobeyed. She didn't have time to pack, to clean up the house to ask a neighbor to forward her mail. She just gathered her two tired and sore daughters, who welcomed the two starving angels, and left her shelter. III Saknaorism the stream which in Iceland the Portuguese women bathe in. The river of sakna, of savne, of saudade impossible water to jump in twice. His armpits did taste like honey but an angel blindfolded my eyes - I dare not read my runic epitaph. IV. Yes, I know how to drive, said the Poet next to the van heading Greece or India. I can lead a Metaphoria to a very forgetful river, menina. I will father your daughters and we will live up there where the river encounters the sea. You don't need Lot nor the Angels to give you a name not even in rune. I know how to jump and swim and transform your salt into water and hummus. Do you dare to taste, to swallow my seed? V And they were dissolved into a river of salt.