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friend poem

no me quemo ningún incienso
arriba y abajo de él va
la lluvia encima, y el aire brillante
hace usted no oír
nunca había un sonido al lado de la madera pero de una
él habla no bien
cuando los mar-vientos perforaron nuestras soledades
por las mañanas nube-grises
raza alto-llevada
para venir tan pronto a esto imaginaba obscuridad
en todas las cosas no habladas de

 



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