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thanksgiving poem

nós colocamos
olhe para trás com olhos longing e saiba que eu seguirei
rode-me para baixo pelo prado
como águias na elevação ascendente
na esfera
as montanhas são povos silenciosos
algum queixou-se ao mestre
sombras voadas que varrem perto
eu não posso dizê-lo agora
glass-blower do tempo
em uma câmara velha iluminou-se macia
simplesmente falando
escute
sabe uma liberação barata

 



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