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3.


Voices full and masculine
carry melodies over into absence.
Echoes from the cupola and walls
are the only sound,
an unrepeatable sequence,
drops of water on the forehead
of the newborn.
Hymns of the sealed viscera
inside the world's bubble.
All is womb.
All, baptismal font.
Before them, she comes
back, already returned,
to her place of origin.
sine qua non.

"Young men, would you
lend me a hand?"
It is necessary to touch with palms
the Covenant's edges.
Pine box,
perfect for the quick unfolding
of what must necessarily unfold
today,
because the climate is reflected
on the immense lagoons of events.

And what is your life, sorrowful one? "He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood will live in me and I in him." Hard to swallow. One raw, the other undistilled. I managed to control my nausea, seeing a man who had not yet wept. From the bottom of earth's well, the eyes of young tiger cubs effervesce upward. The cubs sharpen their teeth. They devour another animal's fresh thigh. "He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood will never die."

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