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Arantxa
Poems
Oct 2013
outside
That one night I
silently counted
the paving
stones as I
kept walking
the trottoir.
Hands in
pockets, breath
leaving
my mouth in
small clouds.
It's cold, but
I have nowhere
to go, because
the lighthouse
is lonely
and the view is
so tiring.
Written by
Arantxa
The Netherlands
(The Netherlands)
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