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pumpkin poem

você pensa, meu menino, quando eu enrolo meus braços em você
homem frio stern
na terra silenciosa
o mistério o mais escuro, o mais estranho
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
para a verdade, para o amor
em uma câmara velha iluminou-se macia
desde que eu senti o sentido da morte
qual eu desejo observar
tropeçando acima, caindo para baixo
ainda treze anos
irmão, eu sou fogo
ao lado de um campo stricken
sentar-se em seu balancim que espera seu chá

 



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