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sad poetry

a través del pecho de dolor de la amplia tierra
ahora mientras que están viviendo mis labios
se hace el día
nunca había un sonido al lado de la madera pero de una
quién es el corredor en los cielos
ella puede ser que lo haya sabido en el resorte anterior
por las mañanas nube-grises
gaily a través de los campos bailamos
en su tienda guardada
quizás
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
tristemente hablando
hace tres años hoy
vea que me doy usted

 



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