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lyric poetry

trançado e tecido
sobre o rio beckon a mim
quando o véu dos olhos for levantado
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
como uma vela branca
um pássaro cantou
deixe-me mover-se lentamente através da rua
a mulher faltou-me muito, como você se chama me, chamada
o sol pisou para baixo de seu throne dourado
três anos há hoje
tempestade
os arcos da ponte vermelha
porque o faça sempre carrinho que tirita lá

 



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