The Moth by Carlos Drummond de Andrade — Read

In this city of Rio, home to two million people, I'm alone in my room, I'm alone in America.

Am I really alone? Just now a sound announced life at my side.

Not human life, true, but it's life. And I feel the moth caught in the zone of light.

Two million people! And I wouldn't need that much. I'd just need a friend, one of those quiet, distant friends who read Horace but secretly influence our life, our loves, our flesh.

I'm alone, without a friend, and at this late hour how can I find one? And I wouldn't need that much.

I'd just need a woman to be here, this minute, to accept this affection and save from annihilation the mad minute of mad affection I have to offer.

Among two million people, how many women must be staring in the mirror counting up the lost years until morning arrives with milk, the paper, some calm.

But how can I find a woman at this desolate hour? This city of Rio! I'm full of tender words, I know animal sounds, I know the wildest kisses, I've traveled, fought, and learned.

I'm surrounded by eyes, by hands, affections, yearnings.

But if I try to reach out, there's nothing but nightand a frightful solitude.

Companions, hear me! That agitated presence trying to break through the night isn't just the moth.

It's the softly panting secret of a man.