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angel poem

no se aflija que encima
el niño que lanzó lejos la hoja después de la hoja
hace tres años hoy
el relámpago destellaba, y levantó
él vino tomarme por la mano
no éramos muchos
debajo de la luna de la cosecha
cuál era él los motores dichos
los días melancólicos han venido
para estos brazos blancos sobre mi cuello
escuche el mar del sonido

 



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