There is a stone in that window
A shadow, without voice.
There is a shiver without measure
Lost
Without spice scent path.
There is a shadow
A fear, without body
That holds without life
To a wall of light.
There is a mystery,
Old, without time
Laid down as a mantle
Over the cold knees.
There is no light on that window
In that hanged lamp.
There is a shadow.
Without voice.
Mystery of a without-past.
(C) 2008 Filipa Nunes














Comments