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modern poetry

deus
talvez
o ar está cheio do alvorecer e da mola
uma sombra cinzenta fina na borda do pensamento
eu sei não onde
eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite
você está desobstruído
eu sou fevered
eu amo minha hora do vento e da luz
da canção e do sonho para ido sempre
ainda treze anos
eu estou morrendo
travails da terra

 



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