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Alma DEMA: Every Sunday morning

Sunday’s bells ring in all their roundness
two nuns touch the bottom lip with the tip badly cut.
Believers push the steps counting
Go ahead evil! – Silently coursing
In the courtyard of the church
At this gray morning
cleaned from the priest’s cassock
a mother’s breast beading.
Among the eyebrows,
Her black wimple keeps down
Begging mercy!
Sunday bells invite in eternity,
Dressed in diver’s suit,
my city floats in animosity.

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