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thanksgiving poem

cuando volví en la puesta del sol
usted es hermoso y descolorado
hermano, soy fuego
el pasar a través de las paredes amontonadas y feas
dentro de este sepulcro humilde un conqueror miente
la pienso espléndido justo
las canciones antiguas
la hija, arte del thou viene morir
el movimiento de su cuerpo es como música
amé a mujer
mire detrás con los ojos longing y sepa que seguiré
ámeme en el último, o si usted no
era un oysterman joven alto

 



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