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thanksgiving poetry

souffleur de verre de temps
le long des banques
écoutez la mer retentissante
se déclenchant vers le haut, tombant vers le bas
sous la lune de moisson
parmi les montagnes j'ai erré
je me demande parfois s'il est vraiment vrai
peut-être ce n'est aucune matière que vous êtes morte
au-dessus des dessus de toit emballez les ombres des nuages
affligez-vous pas pour l'invisible
tous en dedans et tous sans moi
comment comme les étoiles sont ces le blanc, les visages inconnus
pourquoi si triste mon bel?

 



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