to peer out our two seperate windows. Faced with space
we all wish to transform: him to something huge to
fill up the distance. Me to something small, to get lost in it.
We dont get our wishes. Instead we remain in human-scale,
to spiral up Mt. Lacount like heavy smoke,
like big dried out salamanders, like walking trunks of ivy,
like flightless hawks, like people.
The trail cuts back and forth.
On the heads below, we drop
boulders.
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