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african american poetry

doucement pleurant
à travers He va
beau
ces yeux noirs i une fois ainsi félicité
quand, plein de l'amour chaud et désireux
monde qui change sous ma main
la neige chuchote au sujet de moi
dans l'obscurité et la paix de mon lit final
j'aime mon heure de vent et de lumière
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre
il n'y a aucune évasion par le fleuve
stand ici par mon côté
du soleil ni des étoiles

 



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