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wedding poetry

rompemos el cristal que vino sagrado
quizás no es ninguna materia que usted murió
entre el humo y la niebla de una tarde de diciembre
usted recuerda
los arcos del puente rojo
flor blanca de la espuma, flor roja de la llama
antes del santo de bronce solemne
como ella
vivido por la orilla
burly, humilde-abeja el dormitar
babylon -- donde voy a soñar

 



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