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memorial poem

ma mère m'a enseigné que chaque nuit
ce compagnon étrange est venu sur brouiller des pieds
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
hors du profond et de l'obscurité
un mille derrière
voici ne tomber aucune lumière
à l'aube, il a dit
qui aime la pluie
le roulement triste du tambour insonorisé a le battement
et ainsi elle va
l'obscurité roule vers le haut
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant

 



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