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poem for pastors

quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
les vieilles chansons
dans toutes les choses non parlées de
en matins nuage-gris
en septembre
vous a fait entendent parler jamais
j'ai jeté mon âme à l'air comme un vol de faucon
j'ai vu les archangels dans mon pomme-arbre la nuit passée
quand je vais de nouveau à la terre
allé avant nous
foncé-eyed

 



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