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brother poem

nous n'étions pas beaucoup
sous un arbre de propagation de châtaigne
exprimons nos passions plus basses
cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
voyez, ils retournent
il n'y avait jamais un bruit près du bois mais d'un
la lune se levante a caché les étoiles
un mot de vol d'ici et lĂ 
maintenant tandis que mes lèvres vivent
volonté vous miroitez sur la mer?
la nuit est foncée, et les vents d'hiver

 



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