silent through the woods
barefoot i stood longing
for a piece of soul i left here
the other quiet morning.
i hug the pines and kiss the willows,
as i seek my way to the marigold field
where i must have left my soul,
on the riverbed, called "april still".
my soul dissolved into droplets of honey
i lay on the grass and hear the birds sing
for the soul i left there, now
sweetens the hummingbird's gentle beak.
and i, fill the missing soul by drinking joy
from his mornings' sweet hymns.
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Tecelã de Sonhos - Poesia D'água
PoetryMyths, Dreams and Poetry. port/eng it is a hymn as much as it is an obsession - but isn't it holy? - Vim d'uma morosa manhã de abril, cresci como coruja cantante na copa do pau-brasil, tornei-me como bruma e desfiz-me...
