Sao Paulo (Doesn´t See Me) in the Morning

Beyond the exploding green pulp that sweats
in the morning Sao Paulo sun´s first impression
tiny cars string along between the bird-heavy leaves
shining sun into each little window moving past.

The prostitutes last night came clean with me:
`You are very kind, good-hearted and compassionate,´
she said dressed as they do. A firm grasp and so
she performed as ought she had always done.
Was this the plot´s product? Or just what makes it fun?

This question planted yet another acre in the anxious orchard,
a door slamming all of a sudden is all of the strong breeze;
nobody´s angry!
The other one there and different thought
another slip into the thing I kept secret: a lacrosse stick
mistook for a tennis racket. It worked and I wanted it.
And then the expectant hand that follows dimmed me.

The morning sun delivers the pool´s shimmer
against the white of all the young risings.