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pumpkin poem

pensate, il mio ragazzo, quando metto i miei bracci intorno voi
uomo freddo severo
nella terra silenziosa
mistero più scuro e più sconosciuto
una pesca piccola nel frutteto si è sviluppata
per verità, per amore
in un vecchio alloggiamento si è illuminato morbidamente
poiché ho ritenuto il senso della morte
quale desidero rilevare
scattando in su, cadendo
ancora tredici anni
il fratello, sono fuoco
al lato di un campo raso
sedendosi nel suo attuatore che aspetta il vostro tè

 



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