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african american poetry

usted piensa, mi muchacho, cuando pongo mis brazos alrededor de usted
estoy parado en el tiempo gris frío
cuando volví en la puesta del sol
me preguntan donde he estado
paredes y enorme altos
esposa querida
el olor del se levantó tan falso, las espinas tan verdades
llevo a cabo su corazón
poca puerta fue alcanzada en el último
en todas las cosas no habladas de
claro de luna profundo y blando
era el otoño del año

 



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