You have no items in your cart. Want to get some nice things?Go shopping
The frequent sound of the cuckoo
again proclaims the meadow flowers’ passing.
I enjoyed the spring, so pick its last blooms, even more.
Waiting, standing, on the rock,
between the sea’s green sphere
and the star that nears
every night, you speak
at eleven years old
behind my grandmother’s house
in fishing village z-3
i smoked a gol cigarette bought
singly in a boteco