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autumn poetry

cuando las horas del día se numeran
de piso al techo
he venido en el desierto porque mi alma es athirst
hay aumentos para todas nuestras pérdidas
no ruego para la paz
le cuento con
velas que derriban de lado en latas del tomate
con los ojos mansos, marrones
todavía su gris oscila la torre sobre el mar
hay una ciudad, builded por ninguna mano
con la puesta del sol
apenas ahora

 



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