METAPOEMA

                                               As coisas

                                               Emitem luz

                                            Ignoram distâncias

                                           Estão no meu jardim

                                           E na Macedônia

                                                        

               As coisas

               São doces

               Prestimosas

               E votivas

                                               As coisas rentes

                                               Ferem o real

                                               Se capturadas

                                               Caem e morrem

As coisas revelam

O pacto entre o

Divino e o sensual

                                    As coisas

                                        (Todas elas)

                                           Carregam

                                                  Um pouco

                                                          De mim

Manoel Olavo