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love poetry

dios
en el puerto de York nueva
con su pelo flaying violentamente
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
hijas del tiempo
debajo de la luna de la cosecha
en y encendido
una palabra del vuelo de aquí y allí
uno por uno, como se va de un árbol
una pluma del acero
venido abajo en el amanecer de las colinas windless
la oscuridad roba las formas de todas las reinas
oscuro-eyed

 



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