De aquellos que no olvidaron, la última llegada. Se pueden esperar todos los caminos a través de la espera. Se hacen bocas de aire y piernas. Se miran la piel como florece y sus orillas; brotan y tiemblan como semillas verdes. Viene la lluvia a la manera del silencio. Con sus invisibles manos echan raíces, se encarnan como dedos crecientes, llamas de la viva tierra.
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