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memorial poem

he oído que cierta princesa
con su pelo flaying violentamente
como va un hombre desnudo yo
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
no se aflija que encima
el sentarse en su eje de balancín que espera su té
al amante apasionado
tormenta
debajo de mi ventana en una calle de la ciudad
la noche es oscura, y los vientos del invierno
esposa querida
mire detrás con los ojos longing y sepa que seguiré

 



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