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autumn poetry

y a il quiconque là
l'air est plein de l'aube et du ressort
substance de la lune
sans aucun doute je me rappelle toujours
ce qui était lui les moteurs dits
je secoue mes cheveux dans le vent du matin
je descends les chemins de jardin
dans ma main je me tiens
et mon nom est véridique
doucement pleurant

 



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