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thanksgiving poem

el mirar más allá
sobre el río hacen señas a mí
cortocircuito y dulce, y hemos venido al extremo de él
no se aflija que encima
hay un país por completo del vino
mi amor verdadero de su almohadilla se levantó
aflíjase no para el invisible
rompemos el cristal que vino sagrado
la noche es oscura, y los vientos del invierno
amigo, que sonrisa ha venido ser
en sus regimentals desiguales
una niebla conducía abajo
una vida en la onda del océano

 



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