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poems

nella sfera
la pioggia finito e l'aria brillante
dal sud alla rottura del giorno
non ho saputo mai che la terra ha avuta così tanto oro
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma
sto morendo
sono andati i tre, quelle sorelle rare
tutti dentro e tutti senza di me
parla non bene
questi cuori sono stati tessuti delle gioie umane e cure
ora
uomo freddo severo
ancora tredici anni
semplicità

 



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