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prose poetry

près d'un champ en détresse
chère épouse
je me tiens par temps gris froid
j'au-dessus-avais préparé l'événement
je suis une femme
je ne prie pas pour la paix
c'est le bateau de la perle
basculé dans le berceau du profond
comme lui à qui esprit dans la flamme du midi
à travers He va
fait longtemps polir la lumière du soleil d'été
serene d'après-midi et lumineux verts
il aurait même sa plaisanterie

 



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