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narrative poetry

ainda treze anos
mas eu não posso lê-lo agora
eu sou o vento que wavers
aflija-se não para o invisível
dentro de minha mão eu prendo
por muito tempo há, no moonlight novo
qual eu desejo observar
você pensa, meu menino, quando eu enrolo meus braços em você
pharaoh, rei da terra de Egipto
sobre o rio beckon a mim
um poeta, fazendo exame do breio fora de sua lingüeta
e nse
de repente, fora das maneiras escuras e frondosas
olhar além

 



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