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son poem

envolva a terra no tempo cloudy
nos salões do sono você vagueou perto
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
sol e vento e batida do mar
quando o vento trabalhar de encontro a nós na obscuridade
duas fileiras dos repolhos
como ele de quem espírito na chama do meio-dia
este é o arsenal
desolado e solitário
em sua barraca guardada
cai aqui nenhuma luz
não gire sua cabeça
quando eu era quebrou em Londres

 



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