A Portuguese Lullaby is What I am After

<p>There is a lullaby a Portuguese lullaby that wafts through the cobbled streets wedges itself in the punctuation of voices the lines of faces. It comes without demand pretense the need for receipt as if a cathedral is calling the dark into a coronation of lit candles. This lullaby is fastened to loss longing abelia rockroses  the hillsides of sheep grazing. Fastened to days with the angular of discontents yet beyond them. </p><p></p><p>There is a lullaby calling calling calling to you and to me.</p>