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angel poem

ceux-ci soient
deux ranges des choux
le plus triste de l'anne
son gris bascule toujours la tour au-dessus de la mer
un dieu
si j'tais trs sr
bascul dans le berceau du profond
ma mre m'a enseign que chaque nuit
quand les mer-vents ont perc nos solitudes
partir des prs riches avec du mas
nous qui se sont tenus
ne vous affligez pas qu'elle plus de
et ainsi elle va
ami, dont le sourire est venu pour tre

 



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