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christmas poetry

ho visto i archangels nel mio mela-albero la notte scorsa
braided e tessuto
una foschia stava guidando giù
la sua faccia è giusta e liscia e fine
era l'autunno dell'anno
la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
di ci non era mai un suono al lato il legno ma uno
esistere dello swan
corsa alto-sopportata
volontà glimmer sul mare?

 



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