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poem for dad

usted oye la lluvia?
los dĂ­as melancĂłlicos han venido
a alguno los dioses gordos
el más triste del año
el elevar, como el viento soplĂł
cuando los mar-vientos perforaron nuestras soledades
la oscuridad rueda hacia arriba
en sus brazos estaba el placer inmĂłvil
un pájaro cantó
flor blanca de la espuma, flor roja de la llama

 



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