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poem for pastors

seule
bougies se renversant en longueur dans des bidons de tomate
Ă  l'aube, il a dit
mais je ne puis pas vous lire maintenant
une brume entraînait une réduction
s'est levé et l'ambre était le coucher du soleil sur le fleuve
le jour est fait
du plancher au plafond
par le pont grossier

 



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