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memorial poem

minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
os prayers brancos pequenos
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
vontade você glimmer no mar?
o que era ele os motores ditos
nós quebramos o vidro cujo vinho sacred
deixe-me mover-se lentamente através da rua
estes sejam
sol e vento e batida do mar
se eu for muito certo
são idos os três, aquelas irmãs raras
como ela

 



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