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narrative poetry

abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade
quando o vento trabalhar de encontro a nós na obscuridade
com alegria e maravilha
deve ir para trás, disse
mil anos silenciosos há
havia três no prado pelo ribeiro
havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
até sua janela da câmara
eu amo roubar por algum tempo afastado
pouco parque que eu passo completamente
duas fileiras dos repolhos
não permaneça não mais
eu disse, mim fechei meu coração
perguntam-me onde eu estive

 



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