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funeral poem

o único punho clenched levantado e apronta-se
trançado e tecido
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
não há nenhum rebanho, porém prestado atenção e tendido
há um que esse i amou uma vez assim muito
tem um espaço livre, loveliness vento-protegido
melancolia, azul era
ainda treze anos
no alvorecer, disse
limps com parar o ritmo doloroso
de nossos lugares escondidos
apenas como meus dedos nestas chaves
pela costa, pelo mar

 



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