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child poem

tous en dedans et tous sans moi
quand la nuit dérive le long des rues de la ville
nous cassons le verre dont le vin sacré
babylon -- où je vais rêver
il y a trois ans d'aujourd'hui
bonheur
le long des banques
l'air est plein de l'aube et du ressort
la nuit est foncée, et les vents d'hiver
souffleur de verre de temps
seule
composé seul du loveliness
un orage monte sur la marée

 



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