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religious poem

truely
le soleil a fait un pas vers le bas de son trône d'or
quand je vais de nouveau à la terre
beaux, tragical visages
j'étais une déesse avant que le marbre m'ait trouvé
en matins nuage-gris
les bateaux se situent dans le compartiment
il n'y avait jamais un bruit près du bois mais d'un
remuez
quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
bas! 'tis par nuit de gala
et ils marchaient toujours dessus
l'aube était vert pomme
ma douleur, quand elle est ici avec moi

 



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