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prose poetry

aunque soy poco como todas las pequeńas cosas
no hay escape al lado del río
raza alto-llevada
revuelva
debajo de un árbol de la castańa que se separa
levantado de los muertos
oí el viento todo el dia
tres días los oí afligirse cuando pongo absolutamente
las estrellas cayeron de cielo
los cielos que eran ashen y sobrio

 



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