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fall poem

bucks negros gordos en un cuarto del vino-barril
me preguntan donde he estado
soy el viento que duda
amo mi vida, pero no demasiado bien
la fragancia vino
cortocircuito y dulce, y hemos venido al extremo de él
un pequeño melocotón en la huerta creció
la tierra guarda cierto ir de la vibración
hombre frío severo
es usted despierto?
he tenido un miedo en mi vida
una sombra gris fina en el borde del pensamiento

 



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