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angel poem

quand vous venez ce soir
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
peut-être ce n'est aucune matière que vous êtes morte
cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
et ils marchaient toujours dessus
élever, comme vent a soufflé
vous faites ne pas entendre
robuste, humble-abeille de somnoler
elle a dit
par le rivage, par la mer
les drowses pâles de jour sur l'occidental trempent
gloom
nuit mystérieuse
et comment avez osé vous rêve de la réunion

 



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