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sad love poem

no del mundo ancho del conjunto
bucks negros gordos en un cuarto del vino-barril
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
claro de luna profundo y blando
cuando era un muchacho en la universidad
la noche es oscura, y los vientos del invierno
como ella
pájaros contra el viento de abril
en pasillos del sueño usted vagó cerca
tristes son que saben no amor
truely
hasta su ventana del compartimiento
el solo puño apretado levantado y alista
estoy viejo y oculto

 



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