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no se aflija que encima
con los ojos mansos, marrones
las sombras de las naves
no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
sobre los tejados compita con las sombras de nubes
arriba y abajo de él va
el dulce con el fern y se levantó
no ruego para la paz
nosotros que estaban parados
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte
cuando las horas del día se numeran
ella oyó a niños el jugar en el sol
en y encendido
por las mañanas nube-grises

 



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