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footprint poem

hors de la mer de scintillement
les montagnes ils sont les gens silencieux
indéfiniment
elle doit retourner, elle a dit
nous cassons le verre dont le vin sacré
laissez-moi être triste
oiseaux contre le vent d'avril
hors du profond et de l'obscurité
au-dessus d'elles toutes, regardant vers le bas
j'ai vu les archangels dans mon pomme-arbre la nuit passée
il était un jeune oysterman grand
je suis las d'être amer et las d'être sage

 



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