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poem for dad

quelle chance spiteful vole des unawares
dossier une nuit de vol
les étoiles sont tombées du ciel
je secoue mes cheveux dans le vent du matin
se reposer dans son culbuteur attendant votre thé
j'ai entendu le vent toute la journée
à partir des prés riches avec du maïs
dans la terre silencieuse
les poèts le disent
je ne brûle aucun encens
fait longtemps polir la lumière du soleil d'été
doucement maintenant la lumière du jour
du soleil ni des étoiles

 



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