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good bye poem

meu filho está inoperante e eu sou cortina indo
o ar é como uma borboleta
macio como a cama na terra
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
mas eu năo posso lę-lo agora
na meia-noite
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
aqueles no superior dizem que o conhecem, terra -- săo liars
balançado no berço do profundo
macia agora a luz do dia
era uma beleza nos dias
calma como que segundo verăo

 



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