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death poetry

ea izbucni cumplit de vin
oraş că nu este un oraş
cele negru ochii i o dată atât de lăudat
întuneric fura de toate formele de regine
A albastru-negru nubian jumulire portocale
sticlă-de săpun de timp
de fereastra de o mare de verde de arbori
i amintesc încă fără îndoială
Doar ca degetele mele de pe aceste taste
toate linişte-a lungul Potomac
de foc pentru a se îmbrăca în gândit
am văzut Arhangheli în măr-mi copac ultima noapte

 



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