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sister poem

apenas como mis dedos en estas llaves
hay aumentos para todas nuestras pérdidas
debajo de la luna de la cosecha
hace usted oĂ­r
soy el viento que duda
escrito en una noche del vuelo
a lo largo de una orilla
el sentarse en su eje de balancín que espera su té
todos se callan a lo largo del potomac
una vez este césped suave
ese año
poco parque que paso a través

 



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