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christmas poems

ruédeme abajo por el prado
las sombras ponen a lo largo de broadway
sobre ellas todas, mirando abajo
ésta es la canción de la juventud
la oscuridad
cuando el velo de los ojos se levanta
resido en la montaña de la tabla
aunque soy poco como todas las pequeñas cosas
ciudad que no es una ciudad
expresemos nuestras pasiones más bajas
no me quemo ningún incienso
un destello del oro en gloom y gris
flor blanca de la espuma, flor roja de la llama

 



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