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poem for pastors

no recolhimento da escuridăo e pedem
eu ando abaixo os trajetos do jardim
o sol pisou para baixo de seu throne dourado
o ar está cheio do alvorecer e da mola
nós năo éramos muitos
pôde tę-lo sabido na mola mais adiantada
quando eu retornei no por do sol
sono, irmăo cinzento da morte
sombras voadas que varrem perto
eu tive um medo em minha vida
o que nós fará agora

 



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