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como uma vela branca
uma milha atrás
alguns dias mais ventosos
uma palavra do vôo de aqui e lá
minha mãe ensinou-me que cada noite
quando os mar-ventos perfuraram nossos solitudes
acima deles todos, olhando para baixo
cante-o outra vez à canção cantado
em sua barraca guardada
eu não queimo nenhum incense
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor

 



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