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grandmother poem

les petites prières blanches
bruits qui tâchent de déchirer
hauts murs et énorme
dans le port de New York
tandis que je tenais l'écoute, discrètement sourde-muette
de nos endroits cachés
ceux sur le supérieur indiquent qu'elles vous connaissent, la terre -- elles sont des menteurs
est souvent il pas aussi?
remuez
ces coeurs ont été tissés des joies et des soins humains
la nuit passée la pleine lune a étendu un tissu de blanc
désolé et seul
écoutez

 



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