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in the baroque church
between candles and roses.
The sounds are heard
of the drum and the reed.
They rush the exit
From his niche to the ghost
Soft bristle brushes
They clean the dust from
The ages.
Booty women
With satin skirts
And tears of devotion
dress again
to the ghost of assumption.
Let the songs sound!
Tomorrow the ghost goes on a pilgrimage
At dawn
With the drizzle dissipated
Wearing his blue suit
And his silver crown.