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a escuridão rola para cima
para vir assim logo a isto imaginou a obscuridade
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
ruídos que strive rasgar
três anos há hoje
flores dos bebês
tempestade
uma sombra cinzenta fina na borda do pensamento
era não para esse cheiro singular
havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
do assoalho ao teto
eu quero saber onde você vive

 



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