here
  are the poems
         the shape
   of night

paduasoy or debris

With a smell of metal
you entered my room;

a cypress in Rome,
a cup of sweet brandy

When I was young
someone told me a lie

they told me the fields
and the sky were signs

It is night
giving over to morning

and there it is:
the first bird.

Give
me
more
or less
the same
as every
one
else
I'm
leaving