søndag 20. desember 2015

As the wind weeps over snowfields. Impossible to silence it. It weeps for distant things.


The arce of cry
travels from hill
to hill.

From the berry trees
a black rainbow
over the blue night.

Oh !

Like the bow of a viola
the cry has set the wind's
long strings to vibrating.

Oh !

( The people of the house
bring out their lamps.)

Oh !

Where are you going,
with a headless rhythm ?
What moon will gather up
your sorrow of...


Oh !


Earth of light,
sky of earth.


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