In a playground over Belo Horizonte

In a playground over Belo Horizonte

Through a blue steel jungle gym
The kind I used to clamber on
I see my son, and our small things –

A road one’s pushing through the sand beneath us
The ink-marks the other puts upon this paper.

On this mountain sits a different time
Untouched by insect rhythms, a far-off dog
The soundless buzzard under high grey clouds

A time which welds his cautious climbing of new ladders,
My finding of the greater circle.

Below, the noisy towers wait to claim us,
Take us in again, to play the game of son and father,
Pretend there is no quiet park like this one

Parque das Mangabeiras

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