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pumpkin poem

sommeil, frère gris de la mort
laissez le bel unsaid de mots
hauts murs et énorme
en tant qu'elle
j'aime mon heure de vent et de lumière
puisque j'ai senti le sens de la mort
je les ai entendus la nuit
le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent
voyez, de cette contrefaçon de lui
peut-être
le régal royal a été fait
vous êtes beau et fané
dernier minuit
sous la lune de moisson

 



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