Run to me now, dark river, run
inwards, backwards, blind
as the black, the one-eyed sun
parching all petals of the mind.
Mad sunflower point your gun
downwards, earth is calling her kind.
-
Full of eyelids, such a masque
will be the last one - go
folding all wings for the task.
Time's come for sinking slow
as fingers hover, yet do not ask
to what bottom nor how low.
-
By Bruno Tolentino, in O mundo como ideia.
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