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autumn poem

perchč allora, il mosto noi vede?
parla non bene
deve andare indietro, ha detto
possono comunicare di amore in un cottage
il bambino che ha gettato via il foglio dopo il foglio
per coprire il pensiero ardente
cittŕ che non č una cittŕ
questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
la sua faccia č giusta e liscia e fine
ho entrato nel deserto perché la mia anima č athirst
amilo in fine, o se non
dove io trovili

 



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