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thanksgiving poetry

este é o navio da pérola
o que nós fará agora
esse ano
eu não posso dizê-lo agora
o oeste velho, o tempo velho
fora da janela um mar de árvores verdes
eu ando abaixo os trajetos do jardim
quem estará nomeando o vento
aqueles no superior dizem que o conhecem, terra -- são liars
dê-me
os navios estão encontrando-se na baía
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
tem um espaço livre, loveliness vento-protegido

 



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