Porto Sentido

Who comes and crosses the river
by the Pilar mountain
sees an old group of houses
that extends to the sea

Who sees you coming from the bridge
you're a waterfall, saintly
standing on a hill
in the middle of the mist

Through alleys and sidewalks
from Ribeira to Foz
to dirty and worn stones
and sad and lonely street lamps

And that serious and grave air of yours
of a face and stonework
that hides the mystery
of that beautiful and dark light

Seeing you abandoned like this
in that dull tone
in your closed manner
as if grinding a feeling

And it's always the first time
every time coming back home
to see you in that pride
of a wounded hawk