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narrative poetry

quando a noite drifts ao longo das ruas da cidade
eu verei uma estrela hoje à noite
eu resido na montanha da tabela
o céu
minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
como ela
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
e com o pássaro humming
poderíamos nós mas para saber
eighty anos passaram, e mais
diz de épocas velhas boas
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
deixe-nos piedade aqueles de que seja melhor fora do que nós são
abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade

 



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