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modern poetry

se reposer dans son culbuteur attendant votre thé
j'ai hérité le désert parce que mon âme est assoiffée
vous vous rappelez
je secoue mes cheveux dans le vent du matin
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
je les ai offerts tout l'adieu
pour vêtir la pensée ardente
tranquillement, avec le reverance, dans la crainte
pourrions nous mais savoir
fleurs des bébés
doucement pleurant

 



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