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avec la joie et la merveille
la terre garde aller de vibration
je suis vieux et aveugle
cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
l'obscurité vole les formes de toutes les reines
l'enfant qui a jeté la feuille après feuille
quand je suis retourné au coucher du soleil
sous la lune de moisson
beaux, tragical visages
laissez-moi se déplacer lentement par la rue
les poèts le disent

 



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