(Não é bem, mas é o que se pode arranjar)
by Lisel Mueller
Strange, how they got their name—
a boy, barely a man,
looked into sunlit water
and saw himself so beautiful
he spent his life pursuing
that treacherous reflection.
There is no greater loneliness.
Here they are, risen
from the darkness of the pebbled pool
we have made for them in a dish—
risen and broken through
the long, green capsules
to show us their faces:
they are so delicate they invite
protection or violation,
and they are blind.
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