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mother poem

les drowses pâles de jour sur l'occidental trempent
qui appellera le vent
nous cassons le verre dont le vin sacré
comment comme les étoiles sont ces le blanc, les visages inconnus
contre la flamme verte de l'aubépine-arbre
passé persistant de thou
ma mère m'a enseigné que chaque nuit
de la chanson et du rêve pour jamais allé
la nuit passée la pleine lune a étendu un tissu de blanc
la nuit est foncée, et les vents d'hiver
mais je ne puis pas vous lire maintenant

 



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