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poem for pastors

eu v todas as sagacidades humanas
os navios estão encontrando-se na baía
última meia-noite
em sua barraca guardada
um céu que nunca soubesse o sol, a lua ou as estrelas
entre as montanhas eu vagueei
sob a lua da colheita
nós não éramos muitos
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate
para a verdade, para o amor
a filha, arte do thou vem morrer
traga-me a canção macia

 



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