Now that those with deep tan have gone home
and put a shirt on when they go to the local supermarket,
my beach is empty
save for an old man
who keeps looking for his lost youth.
It’s raining in Faro
and the town grieves,
is it because I’m leaving today?
When I look up heavenly tears fill my eyes
or would have
if I hadn’t been wearing glasses.

I’ll visit often, I tell the sentimental town,
it’s only that I have to move back to my old house
which has been empty so long
that its roof is sagging
by heartless neglect;
also I feel protected, there,
you see, we’re about the same age
and badly worn, by intemperate living.
Of course there’s a little matter of a broken romance
it isn’t easy to live with someone
when one has been alone too long.

It’s good to be on my own again I assure myself,
over and over again,
only there is this annoying inner voice
asking me why I feel so melancholic
and why the rainbow was behind me
when I left the afternoon weary town.