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thanksgiving poem

no esté enojado con mí
flores de bebés
no cuelgue ninguna guirnalda
ruidos que se esfuerzan rasgarse
ciudad que no es una ciudad
oscilado en la horquilla del profundo
para mirar todo el dia la onda azul encresparse y romperse
con los ojos mansos, marrones
le cuento con
hace tres años hoy
vi las nubes entre las colinas

 



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