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As autumn falls
Shrouded in golden leaves,we wait.The world doesn’t end at sunsetand only dreamslimit themselves to things.Through a labyrinth of blank hourstime leads us onas autumn fallsover our house, our patio.Shrouded in a relentless fogwe wait, we wait:nostalgia means to live without rememberingthe word we are made of.
De su quinto libro Preludios (Preludes) de 1980.