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autumn poetry

comme lui à qui esprit dans la flamme du midi
les vieilles chansons
sous un arbre de propagation de châtaigne
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
j'ai vu les archangels dans mon pomme-arbre la nuit passée
vous vous rappelez
deux rangées des choux
vieux vin à boire
je me demande où vous vivez
dépassement par les murs blottis et laids
frère, je suis le feu
doucement pleurant
êtes vous éveillé?

 



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