I saw nude trees
empty picture open skyline to my window
horizon
autumn
grey and brown afternoon.
Read white-page-books
hurt my eyes with a razor of silence
Woolf is so quiet
my God, where are her?
Ate some untasted apples
with monosongs
old fields of space in my rememberance
rise up again my bonnie to me
Was shadows with mud houses?
The rain is coming on to wash the history.
A little of her hair
in my overcoat
with the air and a miss.
R.Braga Herculano.
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