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christmas poetry

bonheur
près d'un champ en détresse
avant le saint en bronze solennel
il y avait un temps en anciennes années
comme lui à qui esprit dans la flamme du midi
je me tiens par temps gris froid
j'ai vu les archangels dans mon pomme-arbre la nuit passée
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
vous êtes clair
une lueur d'or dans le gloom et le gris
à l'aube, il a dit
j'aime voler pendant quelque temps loin

 



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