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romantic poem

ruidos que se esfuerzan rasgarse
el sentarse en su eje de balancín que espera su té
las sombras de las naves
quizás
el banquete real fue hecho
cuál era él los motores dichos
debajo de la luna de la cosecha
claro de luna profundo y blando
fuera del profundo y de la obscuridad
no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
mejore que el granito

 



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