Saudade is a feeling that resists translation. Words like homesickness or wanderlust
capture fragments of it, but never the whole. This poem reaches towards the untranslatable:
the unique fusion of longing and loss, of sorrow and tenderness, of absence and living
memory. A sentiment so layered and elusive that it can only ever be approached, never
fully contained.

It is the echo of a song
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—a Sestina of one night shared with our sister moon

Night’s first blush leans low against the tide

that licks the sand; moonlight unhooks the darker seams of our skin.

The air stings sweet, crystalline breath of salt.

A feral moon, she leans close—silent, luminous, wet.

Her breasts dip the water; the water dips us—oh…slow pull

after slow pull—silk unraveling into constellati...

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