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love poetry

conseqüentemente eu não posso
balançado no berço do profundo
pouca porta foi alcançada no último
sob a folha dusky do laurel
havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
nas manhãs nuvem-cinzentas
algum queixou-se ao mestre
o que era ele os motores ditos
mas alas, sonhos justos
um poeta, fazendo exame do breio fora de sua lingüeta
quem ama a chuva
nossos momentos agradáveis voam

 



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