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Everybody left, and no one returned.
Not on November asphalt
You will wait a long time.
We are with you in the Adagio Vivaldi
We meet again.
Again candles will buff
And bitter dream,
But the bow will not ask, you come
At midnight my house.
Elapse in a silent deadly moan
these half-hour,
I read on my hand
Those miracles.
And then you your anxiety,
has become the fate of,
Will withdraw from my threshold
In the icy surf.
10-13 September 1963
Komarovo

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