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poem for dad

je ne brûle aucun encens
allés sont les trois, ces soeurs rares
la lumière retirée
observer toute la journée la vague bleue se courber et se casser
y a il quiconque là
je me suis tenu
sous un arbre de propagation de châtaigne
puisque j'ai senti le sens de la mort
comme égaliser tombe
quand le voile des yeux est soulevé
sous la feuille sombre de laurier
l'obscurité

 



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