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■ The oak
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You were like an obsolete street
with outskirts name. In a plain town the dust rises above the ankles. You stumbled through the corn field, the wind wiped your traces. The nights built in the forgetfulness cathedrals, the darkness is sealed in stone. On the rusty autumn day window you enter inside me with leaf hands. I think the portrait sitting on a pedestal broken from God’s eye. The bread and the wine brought to the silence sit at the table with the parents, the heaven is breaking in thoughts. You watch, you regain your soul you rise over the borders
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