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fra il fumo e nebbia di un pomeriggio di dicembre
per coprire il pensiero ardente
la mia madre lo ha insegnato che ogni notte
morbidamente piangendo
amilo in fine, o se non
stuff della luna
fra le montagne ho vagato
ci sono tre sensi in cui gli uomini prendono
fate sentirsi
ma alas, sogni giusti
sopra i tetti corra le ombre delle nubi
mondo che cambia sotto la mia mano

 



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  • Sun. Jun 22 - 4:31 AM - The Chronicle Herald
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