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sympathy poem

em uma câmara velha iluminou-se macia
era uma oysterman novo alto
talvez
escute o mar soando
a mulher faltou-me muito, como você se chama me, chamada
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate
cidade que não é uma cidade
nós não éramos muitos
eu amo minha hora do vento e da luz
eu espero-o
macia weeping

 



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