quinta-feira, 13 de março de 2014

bishop - flores raras

I.


“Close, close all night
the lovers keep.
They turn together
in their sleep,

Close as two pages
in a book
that read each other
in the dark.

Each knows all
the other knows,
learned by heart
from head to toes.”


II.
The art of losing isn't hard to master; 
so many things seem filled with the intent 
to be lost that their loss is no disaster. 

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster 
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. 
The art of losing isn't hard to master. 

Then practice losing farther, losing faster: 
places, and names, and where it was you meant 
to travel. None of these will bring disaster. 

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or 
next-to-last, of three loved houses went. 
The art of losing isn't hard to master. 

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, 
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. 
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. 

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture 
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident 
the art of losing's not too hard to master 
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

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