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anniversary poetry

no éramos muchos
el sentarse en su eje de balancín que espera su té
estaba parado
simplicidad
y como caminamos la hierba fue revuelta débilmente
miré sobre el cielo glorioso
no puedo ahora decirle
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
repentinamente, fuera de maneras oscuras y frondosas
ponemos
en su vuelo
ámeme en el último, o si usted no

 



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