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funeral poem

de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
no recolhimento da escuridão e pedem
quando a noite drifts ao longo das ruas da cidade
short e doce, e nós viemos à extremidade dela
na esfera
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate
rosas e ouro
levantou-se e o âmbar era o por do sol no rio
um pensamento doce solemn
uma milha atrás
sombras voadas que varrem perto
sabe uma liberação barata
eu detestei-o

 



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