Paris

Paris

peônias negras
serenas
quase secas
pombos se aquecem
num resto
de sol

uma planta
luta para
romper a fenda

formigas dragam
uma abelha
ainda viva

o inverno
furta a flor
a cor da fruta

(gestos & acenos
de sombras
não consolam)

a tarde passa
arrasta e deixa
um rastro prata

(Rodrigo Garcia Lopes, "Peônias negras serenas")

Comments

Harry
Sunday 03/07/05, 15:11

Lovely. Why didn't I see these shots?

Tiodu
Sunday 03/07/05, 22:38

Thanks, Harry. Maybe you did not see it because you translated the poem and were wondering: what the hell was this poet trying to say??

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