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online poetry

flores de bebés
buena mujer
sobre el río hacen señas a mí
tristes son que saben no amor
uno por uno, como se va de un árbol
nunca en toda mi vida
mi madre me enseñó que cada noche
era muchas y mucho hace un año
entre el humo y la niebla de una tarde de diciembre
los pequeños rezos blancos
mi dolor, cuando ella está aquí con mí
velas que derriban de lado en latas del tomate

 



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