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autumn poem

la oscuridad roba las formas de todas las reinas
un cielo que nunca ha sabido el sol, la luna o las estrellas
los he oído en la noche
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
cuando la noche mandila a lo largo de las calles de la ciudad
ésos en el superior dicen que le conocen, tierra -- son mentirosos

 



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