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poetry in motion

no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
una sombra gris fina en el borde del pensamiento
le detesté
si había sabido el estrecho una prisión es amor
trenzado y tejido
la noche es oscura, y los vientos del invierno
el viejo oeste, el viejo tiempo
tres días los oí afligirse cuando pongo absolutamente

 



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