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poetry in motion

ella debe ir detrás, ella dijo
una niebla conducía abajo
sueńo dulce en sus sepulcros humildes
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
vea, de esta falsificación de él
cuál deseo comentar
cuando la noche mandila a lo largo de las calles de la ciudad
ella estalló el vino feroz
por el puente grosero
los drowses pálidos del día en el occidental empapan
sol y viento y golpe del mar
suave como la cama en la tierra
el amo de destinos humanos es yo

 



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