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thanksgiving poem

les vieilles chansons
je les ai entendus la nuit
faites les garçons et les filles vont toujours
cette année
il y a une heure du repos paisible
j'ai vu que vous hunched et tremblant sur les pierres
ville qui n'est pas une ville
vous dites que vous m'aimez
sous la lune de moisson
quand les mer-vents ont percé nos solitudes
ils ont jeté une pierre, vous ont jeté une pierre
tandis que je tenais l'écoute, discrètement sourde-muette

 



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