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poem for pastors

dê-me a fome
cara esposa
quando os mar-ventos perfuraram nossos solitudes
deixe-nos plantar
passagem através das paredes huddled e feias
eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite
o pitiful pequeno, desgastado, caras rir
fala não bem
sol e vento e batida do mar
estourou o vinho feroz
não se aflija que sobre
eu estou cantando-lhe
eu vi com olhos abertos

 



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