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narrative poetry

vea, de esta falsificación de él
veo todos los ingenios humanos
raza alto-llevada
él vino tomarme por la mano
las naves están mintiendo en la bahía
paredes y enorme altos
su cara es justa y lisa y fina
para entonces fuera
entre el humo y la niebla de una tarde de diciembre
este tazón de fuente de plata antiguo el míos
nunca en toda mi vida
algunos días más ventosos

 



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