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short friendship poem

esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
o que nós fará agora
ido antes de nós
eu quero saber às vezes se for realmente verdadeiro
eu disse
são você vivo?
o ar é como uma borboleta
sob a folha dusky do laurel
quem ama a chuva
há qualquer um lá
sombras voadas que varrem perto
para trás, gire para trás
sono, irmão cinzento da morte

 



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