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poem for pastors

dice a di buoni vecchi periodi
lungamente fa la luce solare di estate lucidare
ha sentito i bambini giocare al sole
la mia madre lo ha insegnato che ogni notte
chi chiamerĂ  il vento
ascolti il mare suonante
candele che si rovesciano obliquamente in latte del pomodoro
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma
ha detto
movimento del vostro corpo è come musica
città che non è una città

 



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