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prose poetry

chère épouse
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
le mystère le plus foncé et le plus étrange
quatre-vingts ans ont passé, et plus
les vérités terribles ceux-ci soient
laissez-nous pitié ceux outre dont soyez meilleur que nous sont
il est allé
trois jours je les ai entendus s'affliger quand je m'étends complètement
bonne femme
ces coeurs ont été tissés des joies et des soins humains
elle était une beauté en jours

 



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