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prose poetry

el relámpago destellaba, y levantó
fuera del mar chispeante
la medianoche pasada
sacudaro mi pelo en el viento de la mañana
soporte aquí por mi lado
como vela blanca
sueño, hermano gris de la muerte
aunque soy poco como todas las pequeñas cosas
era muchas y mucho hace un año
en números mournful
las verdades tremendas éstos sean
el sol está para arriba
usted oye la lluvia?


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