Slowly the days passed and we returned intact fruit of our planting. The calendar that governs us, no cycles and love is the brand that is timed. Without fear of the future, always fractious, walk hand in hand without touching the swamp around us because there is no promised land that we walk and it belongs to us. Cavalo Morto is a place that exists in a poem by Ledo Ivo but your face is the beacon that guides cruises, forever forgetting the pain of shipwrecks.
2014 (7) January (7) OUTDOOR AIR WEIGHT WITH EYES CLOSED THE MYSTERY OF TEMPUS FUGIT WATER IN THE DAYS OF RAIN THE THREAD KITE 2013 (35) December (5) October (11) October (14) September (5)
Presentation of poems "Are you squat" Carmen Hernández Zurbano
2 weeks ago
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