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sad love poem

sommeil, frère gris de la mort
pourquoi puis, la nécessité nous voient?
substance de la lune
son gris bascule toujours la tour au-dessus de la mer
je vous ai détesté
hors de moi indigne et inconnu
quand je suis retourné au coucher du soleil
simplement parlant
ne soyez pas faux
par de la large le sein faisant mal terre
j'ai vu les nuages parmi les collines
c'était l'automne de l'année

 



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