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tandis que je tenais l'écoute, discrètement sourde-muette
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
un orage monte sur la marée
course haut-soutenue
les nuances de la nuit tombaient rapidement
là par la fenêtre dans la vieille maison
cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
robuste, humble-abeille de somnoler

 



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