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thanksgiving poem

in tutte le cose non parlate di
sole e vento e battimento del mare
nelle mattine nube-grige
questi cuori sono stati tessuti delle gioie umane e cure
ho visto che il dio voi lo dubita?
morbido come la base nella terra
una foschia stava guidando giů
da me indegno e sconosciuto
questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
prima del san bronze solenne

 



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