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friend poetry

quand les heures du jour sont numérotées
au-dessus du fleuve, sur la colline
au-dessus d'elles toutes, regardant vers le bas
ce qui nous fera maintenant
pourrions nous mais savoir
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
vous êtes beau et fané
bas! 'tis par nuit de gala
oranges de plumaison nubian bleu-noires
dans ma main je me tiens
dans toutes les choses non parlées de
et ainsi elle va
dépassement par les murs blottis et laids

 



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