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thanksgiving poem

minha mãe ensinou-me que cada noite
um céu que nunca soubesse o sol, a lua ou as estrelas
o prado estava rastejando
última meia-noite
do assoalho ao teto
quietamente, com reverance, no awe
ao longo dos bancos
eu sobre-tinha preparado o evento
quando os mar-ventos perfuraram nossos solitudes
dê-me a fome
mas alas, sonhos justos
o alvorecer era verde maçã
de repente, fora das maneiras escuras e frondosas

 



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