Symptoms of a quase language

By Desirée Jung

Poesia é amor
Poetry is love
e precisa ser sentida
and has to be felt
sentido, sentido, sinta
in the right tone,
in the right language,
sentido, sentido, sinta,
felt, dreamt, meant.

My eyes refuse to see, jump, and escape the lines
that read, the borders separating me you and us two
together, todos juntos, aqui here in this room.

It’s a dysfunction I have, confusing dreams with illusions
Reality with what my sight takes in, words and
palavras, they are weaker than my images,
my blurred images que quase nunca vejo.
Nothing makes sense
to my vision.

The language has to be deciphered
and I don’t know, I don’t know, não sei
como fazê-lo. How do you turn the sentences,
pain e dor, into real meanings,
into the true cinematic potential
of my Latin language?