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thanksgiving poem

las viejas canciones
los he oído en la noche
haga a muchachos y las muchachas todavía van
ese año
hay una hora del resto pacífico
vi que usted hunched y temblando en las piedras
ciudad que no es una ciudad
usted dice que usted me ama
debajo de la luna de la cosecha
cuando los mar-vientos perforaron nuestras soledades
lanzaron una piedra, usted lanzaron una piedra
mientras que estaba parado escuchar, discreto mudo

 



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