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nas manhãs nuvem-cinzentas
deixe o unsaid encantador das palavras
eu não queimo nenhum incense
o prado estava rastejando
pôde tê-lo sabido na mola mais adiantada
como ela
para vir assim logo a isto imaginou a obscuridade
você ouve a chuva?
em algum lugar eu li um tale estranho, velho, oxidado
cão do gingham e o gato do calico
o mais saddest do ano
mas alas, sonhos justos
o oeste velho, o tempo velho

 



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