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lyric poem

déme
debajo de mi ventana en una calle de la ciudad
éstos sean
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte
hay una hora del resto pacífico
fuera de la ventana un mar de árboles verdes
amo mi hora del viento y de la luz
con su pelo flaying violentamente
qué nosotros ahora hará
revuelva
entre el humo y la niebla de una tarde de diciembre
para la verdad, para el amor

 



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