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broken heart poem

la fille, art de thou viennent pour mourir
là où je trouvez-vous
je suis une femme
bien que je sois peu en tant que toutes les petites choses
êtes vous éveillé?
jamais dans toute ma vie
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre
chère épouse
tandis que je tenais l'écoute, discrètement sourde-muette
pour vêtir la pensée ardente
je réside à la montagne de table
enveloppez la terre par temps nuageux
il y avait un temps en anciennes années

 



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