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african american poetry

quando os mar-ventos perfuraram nossos solitudes
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
sobre o rio, no monte
como ela
não esteja irritado com mim
como ele de quem espírito na chama do meio-dia
meu filho está inoperante e eu sou cortina indo
a chuva sobre, e o ar brilhante
short e doce, e nós viemos à extremidade dela
não se aflija que sobre
eu vi com olhos abertos
este é o navio da pérola

 



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