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dentro desta sepultura humilde um conqueror encontra-se
pouca porta foi alcançada no último
macia agora a luz do dia
nas manhăs nuvem-cinzentas
o pitiful pequeno, desgastado, caras rir
eu amo minha hora do vento e da luz
acima do sul na ruptura do dia
a fragrância veio
temos nós nenhum shame?
um poeta, fazendo exame do breio fora de sua lingüeta
flor branca da espuma, flor vermelha da flama

 



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