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birthday poetry

aumentato dai morti
lungo una riva del fiume
non sia arrabbiato con me
uccelli contro il vento di aprile
ho lanciato il mondo
perchč sono le cose che non hanno morte
il mio figlio č guasto e sono ciechi andanti
sposti la terra in tempo nuvoloso
possono comunicare di amore in un cottage
vi ricordate di
per potere vedere ogni lato di ogni domanda
lo ho visto una volta prima
come lui di chi spirito nella fiammata del mezzogiorno
quando i mare-venti hanno perforato i nostri solitudes

 



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