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short poem

as máscaras da noite estavam caindo rapidamente
a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
as canções antigas
era uma beleza nos dias
minha mãe ensinou-me que cada noite
quando eu retornei no por do sol
qual se mantem
eu estive
é frequentemente não assim?
ruídos que strive rasgar
não há nenhum rebanho, porém prestado atenção e tendido
uma sombra cinzenta fina na borda do pensamento
são você acordado?

 



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