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oscilado en la horquilla del profundo
cuando el viento trabaja contra nosotros en la obscuridad
puesto que he sentido el sentido de la muerte
por las mañanas nube-grises
cuando, lleno de amor caliente e impaciente
al revés, dé vuelta al revés
en su vuelo
ruédeme abajo por el prado
sueño dulce en sus sepulcros humildes
y va tan
caído tan
no permanezca no más
y cómo podría usted sueño de la reunión
con su pelo flaying violentamente

 



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