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friend poem

glass-blower do tempo
veio fazer exame de me pela mão
serene da tarde e brilhante verdes
o que mim lhe devem
há três maneiras em que os homens fazem exame
as sombras dos navios
para estes braços brancos sobre minha garganta
cai aqui nenhuma luz
eu não posso dizê-lo agora

 



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