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family poem

hay aumentos para todas nuestras pérdidas
pasado implacable del thou
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte
apenas como mis dedos en estas llaves
viejo vino a beber
el existir del cisne
aunque repine del amor, y rozadura de la razón
los pequeños rezos blancos
babylon -- donde voy a soñar
su cara es justa y lisa y fina
soy el viento que duda
la fragancia vino
hay una ciudad, builded por ninguna mano

 



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