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african american poetry

bucks neri grassi in una stanza del vino-barilotto
ho visto con gli occhi aperti
il sole è in su
dai prati ricchi con cereale
forse è materia che avete morto
il dolce con il fern ed è aumentato
una tempesta sta guidando sulla marea
così caduto
sotto il foglio dusky dell'alloro
osservi fuori sulle stelle, il mio amore
ho entrato nel deserto perché la mia anima è athirst
mondo che cambia sotto la mia mano
per allora senza

 



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