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        THE FRONT LINE

In this poem, the front line holds together.
Faces white, hands
interlacing their bodies or in their pockets.
Some close their eyes or stare at the floor.
The others are sizing you up.
Eyes drained by time. They turn back
toward each other after this pause.
The face-off only fortifies
the certitude of their union.

autógrafo
Roberto Bolaño
Translation from Laura Healy


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