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luís soares

Blog do escritor Luís Soares

Mark Strand - Moontan

The bluish, pale

face of the house
rises above me
like a wall of ice


and the distant,
barking of an owl
floats toward me.


I half close my eyes.


Over the damp
dark of the garden
flowers swing
back and forth
like small ballons.


The solemn trees,
each buried
in a cloud of leaves,
seem lost in sleep.


It is late.
I lie in the grass,
feeling at ease,
pretending the end
will be like this.


falls on my flesh.
A breeze
circles my wrist.


I drift.
I shiver.
I know that soon
the day will come
to wash away the moon's
white stain,


that I shall walk
in the morning sun
as anyone.