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slam poetry

todavĂ­a su gris oscila la torre sobre el mar
oscilado en la horquilla del profundo
mi madre me enseñó que cada noche
y todavĂ­a caminaron encendido
sacudaro mi pelo en el viento de la mañana
de largo hace, en el claro de luna joven
una niebla conducĂ­a abajo
deje el unsaid encantador de las palabras
poco parque que paso a través
una historia muy notable esto es
lleno esta taza
puesto que he sentido el sentido de la muerte

 



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