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os navios estão encontrando-se na baía
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
o ar está cheio do alvorecer e da mola
uma sombra cinzenta fina na borda do pensamento
eu estou cantando-lhe
não gire sua cabeça
um olhar é mas um raio
o céu
como um homem despido mim vai
o que nós fará agora
de nossos lugares escondidos
aqueles olhos pretos i elogiado uma vez assim

 



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