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christmas poem

un orage monte sur la marée
souvent je pense à la belle ville
pour la vérité, pour l'amour
étaient elle pas pour cette odeur singulière
dans l'obscurité et la paix de mon lit final
hors du profond et de l'obscurité
dans votre vol
les ombres des bateaux
avec la joie et la merveille
descendu à l'aube des collines windless
la étoile-poussière et lumière vaporeuse
je sais pas où
vous êtes clair

 



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