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child poem

con los ojos mansos, marrones
hay uno que ese i amó una vez tanto
amo robar un rato lejos
el sol está para arriba
amo mi vida, pero no demasiado bien
aquí cae ninguna luz
un poeta, tomando el frenillo de su lengüeta
por las mañanas nube-grises
la señora, su corazón ha dado vuelta al polvo
todavía recuerdo sin duda alguna
gaily a través de los campos bailamos
todavía su gris oscila la torre sobre el mar
sacudaro mi pelo en el viento de la mañana
era un oysterman joven alto

 



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