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death poetry

bruits qui tâchent de déchirer
elle a un espace libre, loveliness vent-abrité
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre
je ne brûle aucun encens
il n'y avait jamais un bruit près du bois mais d'un
en dessous de cette tombe modeste un conqueror se trouve
au-dessus du fleuve, sur la colline
trois jours je les ai entendus s'affliger quand je m'étends complètement
quand j'ai regardé dans vos yeux

 



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