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prose poetry

si je meurs, pensez seulement ceci à moi
j'ai vu la première poire
hors de la mer de scintillement
doucement maintenant la lumière du jour
quand les mer-vents ont percé nos solitudes
ces coeurs ont été tissés des joies et des soins humains
peut-être
parmi les montagnes j'ai erré
quelle chance spiteful vole des unawares
du plancher au plafond

 



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