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mother poem

estoy parado en el tiempo gris frío
apenas como mis dedos en estas llaves
naranjas de desplume nubian azul-negras
en el puerto de York nueva
me pregunto a veces si es realmente verdad
en y encendido
encima del sur en la rotura del día
la pienso espléndido justo
vi que usted hunched y temblando en las piedras
la noche era negra y drear

 



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