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memorial poem

le jour est fait
je suis une femme
nous cassons le verre dont le vin sacré
le bonbon avec la fougère et s'est levé
n'accrochez aucune guirlande
mon âme disparaît plaquée dans des choses magnifiques
puisque j'ai senti le sens de la mort
je remplis cette tasse
j'au-dessus-avais préparé l'événement
sous la lune de moisson
je sais pas où
la fille, art de thou viennent pour mourir

 



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