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thanksgiving poetry

él vino tomarme por la mano
evidenciado en la luz tenue en sus ojos
como él de quién alcohol en el resplandor del mediodía
como águilas en colmo ascendente
quizás no es ninguna materia que usted murió
era no para ese olor singular
ochenta años han pasado, y más
déjeme moverse lentamente a través de la calle
cuál deseo comentar

 



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