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mother poem

bougies se renversant en longueur dans des bidons de tomate
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre
ma mère m'a enseigné que chaque nuit
la étoile-poussière et lumière vaporeuse
simplicité
sans aucun doute je me rappelle toujours
tous apaisent le long du potomac
en matins nuage-gris

 



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