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funeral poem

todos tragan los años
behold yo, en mi chiffon, gasa y malla
tome mis pulseras
con los ojos mansos, marrones
con rojo de la sangre de los labios y el corazón de la piedra
porqué lo haga
ochenta años han pasado, y más
sueño, hermano gris de la muerte
la oscuridad roba las formas de todas las reinas
las verdades tremendas éstos sean
pienso a menudo en la ciudad hermosa
vi que usted hunched y temblando en las piedras

 



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