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death poem

este tazón de fuente de plata antiguo el míos
la música i oído con usted era más que música
lanzaron una piedra, usted lanzaron una piedra
flor blanca de la espuma, flor roja de la llama
dondeyo encuéntrele
fuera de mí indigno y desconocido
sé no dónde
quién es el corredor en los cielos
hace de largo la luz del sol del verano brillar
raza alto-llevada
materia de la luna
sombras coas alas que barren cerca

 



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