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child poetry

ella tiene un claro, loveliness viento-abrigado
asustado no más, digo
apenas como mis dedos en estas llaves
cómo como las estrellas es este el blanco, las caras sin nombre
ámeme en el último, o si usted no
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
hago mi cubierta, pero nadie sabe

 



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