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short funny poem

behold mim, em meus chiffon, gauze e ouropel
aflija-se não para o invisível
sobre o rio beckon a mim
ao lado de um campo stricken
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
o ar é como uma borboleta
diga-me mais menos ou diga-me mais
glass-blower do tempo
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
splendor doce
eu estive pelo casement aberto
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
há uma hora do descanso calmo
era uma beleza nos dias

 



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