quarta-feira, 1 de abril de 2020

Q de Quarentena (II)


Birds leave behind
shadows in a nest

so leave your lamp
instrument and book

let us go to a hill
where air grows

I will point out
the absent star

tender rootlets
buried by turf

springs of cloud
rising unsullied

a wind lends its mouth
so that we migth sing

we'll knit our brows
we won't say a word

clouds have haloes
just like the saints

we have black pebbles
where eyes should be

a good memory cures
the scar a loss leaves

radiance may descend
down our bent backs

verily verily I say unto you
great is the abyss
between us
and the light


[ID | Santarém, 30/03/13]

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