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thanksgiving poetry

cuando voy de nuevo a la tierra
para la verdad, para el amor
déme el hambre
qué nosotros ahora hará
encima del sur en la rotura del dĂ­a
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte
vi que usted hunched y temblando en las piedras
poca puerta fue alcanzada en el Ăşltimo
encima de los prados ricos con maĂ­z
lo van
vea el tentativo
en la tierra silenciosa
el cielo

 



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