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short love poem

porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
nas manhãs nuvem-cinzentas
pensamentos através de minha cabeça
se eu for muito certo
pássaros de encontro ao vento de abril
até sua janela da câmara
nunca em toda minha vida
quem estará nomeando o vento
o mestre de destinies humanos é mim
há uma cidade, builded por nenhuma mão
os arcos da ponte vermelha
pôde tê-lo sabido na mola mais adiantada
eu sou o vento que wavers

 



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