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african american poetry

încetişor plâns
sus şi în jos se duce
frumos
cele negru ochii i o dată atât de lăudat
atunci când, plin de cald si dornici de dragoste
lume, care se schimbă sub-mă de mână
zapada şoapte despre mine
în întuneric şi pacea mea finală de pat
îmi iubesc ora de vânt şi de lumina
printre fum de ceaţă şi de după-amiază de decembrie
nu există nici o scape de râu
stau aici de partea mea
de duminică, nici stele

 



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