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usted es hermoso y descolorado
en pueda
como ella
sea paciente, vida, cuando el amor está en la puerta
un cielo que nunca ha sabido el sol, la luna o las estrellas
debajo del timón del guerrero
hace usted no oír
cuando las horas del día se numeran
las sombras de las naves
velas que derriban de lado en latas del tomate
qué yo le deben
encima de los prados ricos con maíz
aquí cae ninguna luz
ahora que me he refrescado a usted

 



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