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poem for dad

vous faites entendre
je vous ai détesté
avec le coucher du soleil
comme égaliser tombe
les vérités terribles ceux-ci soient
à certains les gros dieux
ne soyez pas fâché avec moi
un orage monte sur la marée
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre
j'ai vu la première poire
la femme a beaucoup manqué, comment vous appelez à moi, appel à moi
là où je trouvez-vous
un dieu

 



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