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poem for dad

ido antes de nosotros
poca puerta fue alcanzada en el último
cómo es salvaje, cómo bruja-como extraño que la vida debe ser
el cielo
los hice una oferta todo el adiós
dice de buenas viejas épocas
melancolía, azul era
se hace el día
cuando las horas del día se numeran
encima del sur en la rotura del día
una mirada es solamente un rayo
me pregunto donde usted vive

 



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  • Thursday July 24, 2008 THURSDAY, JULY 24 - Berkeley Daily Planet
 

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