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son poem

je réside à la montagne de table
le mystère le plus foncé et le plus étrange
mon amour vrai de son oreiller a monté
doucement pleurant
sous un arbre de propagation de châtaigne
dites-moi moins ou dites-moi davantage
l'enfant qui a jeté la feuille après feuille
oranges de plumaison nubian bleu-noires
roses et or
fait longtemps polir la lumière du soleil d'été
je la pense splendide juste
ombres à ailes balayant près
voyez que je me donne vous

 



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