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def poetry

o ar é como uma borboleta
as canções velhas
teria mesmo seu gracejo
eu fui acima e trago as ruas
nós quebramos o vidro cujo vinho sacred
eu v todas as sagacidades humanas
minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
nós que estiveram
glooms dos viv-carvalhos
levantou-se e o âmbar era o por do sol no rio
sombras voadas que varrem perto
eu vi as nuvens entre os montes

 



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