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una tempesta sta guidando sulla marea
dove io trovili
stuff della luna
il più triste dell'anno
come mi trovo coperto dentro, selezionato dentro
fra il fumo e nebbia di un pomeriggio di dicembre
per guardare tutto il giorno l'onda blu arricciarsi e rompersi
lasci una conservazione di gioia voi
la nerezza
travails della terra

 



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