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poem for pastors

fuera de mí indigno y desconocido
sé no dónde
pájaros contra el viento de abril
porqué lo haga
ella cojea con parar paso doloroso
simplicidad
tome mis pulseras
soy el viento que duda
quizás no es ninguna materia que usted murió
uno con usted
me pregunto donde usted vive
me pregunto a veces si es realmente verdad

 



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