after all our branches
(don’t make me make
that betrayal face again)
back to our mineral reactions
when we were sand and silica
which we still are but we
lose place of track and time
meanders like a mountain
downhill to the gravel-pit we
regret our groveling beginnings
which fall takes us back to
under the scenery of memory
granite dolomite and schist
through which we climbed
after our brief lives as clouds
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