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autumn poem

perchè sono le cose che non hanno morte
sotto un albero di diffusione della castagna
come mi trovo coperto dentro, selezionato dentro
come lui di chi spirito nella fiammata del mezzogiorno
così caduto
metà di piaceri e palazzi benchè possiamo vagare
ho visto la prima pera
diami la fame
la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
i drowses pallidi di giorno sull'occidentale bagnano
a volte mi domando se è realmente allineare

 



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