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child poetry

há uma hora do descanso calmo
bonito
o que era ele os motores ditos
é ido
como águias na elevação ascendente
para trás, gire para trás
apenas como meus dedos nestas chaves
acima deles todos, olhando para baixo
eu vi que o deus você a duvida?
quando o vento trabalhar de encontro a nós na obscuridade

 



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