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teen poem

la mujer faltó mucho, cómo usted llama a mí, llamada a mí
rompemos el cristal que vino sagrado
y va tan
este tazón de fuente de plata antiguo el míos
todavía su gris oscila la torre sobre el mar
gaily a través de los campos bailamos
una sombra gris fina en el borde del pensamiento
las verdades tremendas éstos sean
uno con usted

 



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