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son poem

algum queixou-se ao mestre
material da lua
há um país completamente do vinho
uma milha atrás
a chuva sobre, e o ar brilhante
balançado no berço do profundo
e como poderia você sonho da reunião
eu sou o vento que wavers
minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
as estrelas caíram do heaven
têm você não ouvido
no alvorecer, disse
eu arremessei minha alma ao ar como um vôo do falcão
o corpo pode confinar

 



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