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short poem

le maître des destins humains suis moi
l'enfant qui a jeté la feuille après feuille
au-dessus du fleuve ils montrent à moi
la foudre a clignoté, et s'est soulevée
elle doit retourner, elle a dit
elle pourrait l'avoir su en ressort premier
les petites prières blanches
je les ai entendus la nuit
cette année
c'était l'automne de l'année
à certains les gros dieux
le merriment sans fin et idiot des étoiles
est souvent il pas aussi?
donc je ne puis pas

 



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