Lunário

 - Temos o voo do coração na ponta dos dedos

na garganta ficou-nos um travo acetinado de corpos

um rasto prateado de correrias pela cidade.

[Al Berto]

Aves como tiros

A minha dor é silenciosa e triste 

como a parte da praia onde o mar não chega.

[Fernando Pessoa]

His face my brain

 I

He was all beautiful: as fair

As summer in the silent trees;

As bright as sunshine on the leas;

As gentle as the evening air.

 

His voice was swifter than the lark;

 

Softer than thistle-down his cheek;

His eyes were stars that shyly break

At sundown ere the skies are dark.

 

I found him in a lowly place:

 

He sang clear songs that made me weep:

Long nights he ruled my soul in sleep:

Long days I thought upon his face.

[John Addington Symonds]