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suicide poem

hors de la mer de scintillement
cette année
je me tiens par temps gris froid
en matins nuage-gris
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
dans pouvez
voyez, ils retournent
quand je vais de nouveau à la terre
je fais ma monture, mais personne ne sait
êtes vous éveillé?
avec le coucher du soleil
fleurs des bébés
vous pensez, mon garçon, quand je mets mes bras autour de vous

 



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