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african american poetry

de nuestros lugares ocultados
cuando usted viene esta noche
sacudaro mi pelo en el viento de la mañana
déme
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
sombras coas alas que barren cerca
pasado implacable del thou
sobre-habi'a preparado el acontecimiento
debajo de la hoja oscura del laurel
pienso a menudo en la ciudad hermosa
en un viejo compartimiento se encendió suavemente
o justo y stately criada, que ojos

 



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