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grandmother poem

le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
sans aucun doute je me rappelle toujours
il n'y a aucune bande, toutefois observé et tendu
l'air est comme un papillon
hors de moi indigne et inconnu
aucune proie ne suis moi des pensées faibles
en matins nuage-gris
simplement parlant
vieux vin à boire
s'il
je me demande où vous vivez
ce qui nous fera maintenant
il y a mille années silencieuses

 



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