...è alto normale: tipo 1,89

She loved me, and sometimes I loved her too. How could one not not have loved her great, still eyes?  (...) To think that I do not have her. To feel I have lost her.  To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.  And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.  What does it matter that my love could not keep her.  The night is shattered, and she is not with me.  This is all.  In the distance someone is singing. In the distance. My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.  My sight searches for her as though to go to her  My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.  (...) I no longer love her, that is certain, but how I loved her.  (...) I no longer love her, that is certain, but maybe I love her.  Love is so short, forgetting so long.  (...) Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer,  and these  the  last  verses that  I  write  for  her. ------------------------------------------------------------- ENCONTRANDO, EM RAZÃO DA SIMILITUDE COM O POEMA DAS GARRAS QUE NÃO DEIXAM AS GARRAS, DO COHEN, DA PELE QUE SE QUER DESPREGADA DA OUTRA PELE, ENCANTO NOS SONETOS DE NERUDA.  POSTO QUE MENOS SECOS DO QUE GERALMENTE RUMINO.  E MENOS VISCERAIS, MESMO QUE TENCIONANDO PARECÊ-LO. O METRO E OITENTA E NOVE DEPOSITADO EM ENVELOPE LACRADO QUE SÓ SE VIOLA COM MAÇARICOS.  E QUE ME ASSALTA MEMÓRIA E FIBRAS, EM LOCAL INDEVIDO, HORÁRIO FRESCO PÓS-DIA ESCALDANTE.  NA SUAVIDADE ETERNA COM QUE ME ATENDE CHAMADA, ENVIANDO ÀS FAVAS O CICLO ARCADIANO.  E, E...  PARCELA (miúda, irrisória) DA MINHA SAUDADE (massiva).