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grandmother poem

siete svegli?
era un oysterman giovane alto
in possa
una vita sull'onda dell'oceano
per guardare tutto il giorno l'onda blu arricciarsi e rompersi
ombre alate che scopano vicino
perchè
prenda i miei bracelets
la penso splendido giusto
perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?
potremmo ma sapere
calma come che seconda estate
il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
dal sud alla rottura del giorno

 



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