11

Sometimes your blood froze like the moon
in the limitless night your blood
spride its white wings over
the black rocks, the shapes of trees and houses,
with a little light from our childhood years.

George Seferis, Collected Poems (1922 - 1955), Edmund Kelley e Philip Sherrard (trad., ed., e intr.), Princeton University Press, 1971.

(Livro acabado de chegar, o carteiro deixou-o plantado à porta de casa.)