Rocas de fuego, piel en reposo. Ojos cerrados, mundo distante.
El viento — caricia antigua recorre su piel soñante.
Abraza la luz final, tibia y dorada, antes de que la tarde se apague en silencio.
Texto: “Última luz”, (M. Mendoza, 2025)
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10-18 March, professional voting of residents 35PHOTO
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