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christian poem

en matins nuage-gris
oranges de plumaison nubian bleu-noires
il était un jeune oysterman grand
un ciel qui n'a jamais connu le soleil, la lune ou les étoiles
je meurs
la lumière retirée
je ne puis pas vous dire maintenant
maintenant tandis que mes lèvres vivent
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
splendor doux
serene d'après-midi et lumineux verts

 



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