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friend poem

vi la primera pera
soy el viento que duda
una milla detrás
estoy viejo y oculto
todos dentro y todos sin mí
calma como que segundo verano
ese compañero extraño vino en mezclar pies
hermoso
el viejo oeste, el viejo tiempo
debajo de un árbol de la castaña que se separa
no ruego para la paz
caras hermosas, tragical
pájaros contra el viento de abril

 



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