The poetry made itself heard but did not yield its voice.
We had to create another.
Not knowing if she was a daughter or breathing
from when we were girls.
The song stayed in adolescence, friend.
What couldn't I hear?
How many others?
A continuous stream of reference to myself runs through my thinking.
The wind blows outside.
A drop in the night repeats the story that I did not know.
Your breath, friend
learned to be yours.
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A veces leo.
Magician
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