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teen love poem

les petites prières blanches
si perdu
oiseaux contre le vent d'avril
il n'y avait jamais un bruit près du bois mais d'un
quatre-vingts ans ont passé, et plus
quand le vent fonctionne contre nous dans l'obscurité
allé avant nous
le ciel
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée
une petite pêche dans le verger s'est développée
souvent je pense à la belle ville
se reposer dans son culbuteur attendant votre thé

 



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