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footprint poem

pela costa, pelo mar
eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
eu vi a primeira pera
do assoalho ao teto
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
qual se mantem
veja, desta moeda falsa dele
a fragrância veio
era uma beleza nos dias
última meia-noite
há um que esse i amou uma vez assim muito
quem estará nomeando o vento

 



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