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life poetry

mi madre me enseñó que cada noche
el cielo
ochenta años han pasado, y más
me pregunto a veces si es realmente verdad
mi madre me trenza las rosas mojadas con rocío
tráigame la canción suave
espléndido y terrible su amor
lleno esta taza
puesto que he sentido el sentido de la muerte
ese año
materia de la luna
con los ojos mansos, marrones


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