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teen poem

unter einem ausgebreiteten Kastaniebaum
diese alte silberne Schüssel von meinen
Material des Mondes
achtzig Jahre haben und mehr überschritten
alle innen und alle ohne mich
bis zu ihrem Raumfenster
Stadt, die nicht eine Stadt ist
unter den Rauch und Nebel eines Dezembernachmittages

 



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