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caído tan
si era muy seguro
la nieve susurra sobre mí
algunos de los daños que usted ha curado
fuera de mí indigno y desconocido
cuál guarda
ponemos
debajo de la luna de la cosecha
a alguno los dioses gordos
todavía su gris oscila la torre sobre el mar
cuando, lleno de amor caliente e impaciente

 



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