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sad poetry

quand j'ai regardé dans vos yeux
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
avant le saint en bronze solennel
tous en baisse les années
pourquoi faites-vous toujours stand tremblant là
le roulement triste du tambour insonorisé a le battement
comme des aigles sur la haute haute
je sais ce que vous allez dire
tous apaisent le long du potomac
à minuit
quand le voile des yeux est soulevé
et mon nom est véridique

 



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