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poem for pastors

in qualche luogo ho letto un racconto sconosciuto, vecchio, arrugginito
le vecchie canzoni
in tutte le cose non parlate di
nelle mattine nube-grige
in settembre
li ha fatti mai sentono parlare
ho scagliato la mia anima all'aria come un volo del falco
ho visto i archangels nel mio mela-albero la notte scorsa
quando vado di nuovo a terra
andato prima di noi
scuro-eyed

 



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