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Decaying leaves split my pores
Flowers blooming, like freedom calling.
Leaves call gently into the sky,
Thanking the heavens for its existence,
Plucked one by one by name
In a summoned silence.
We step through the brush,
Fires blazing in autumn all around
Landing by a mycelium ladder on a stump,
Romantic notions siphon under our feet
Channelling through living decay.
Purgatory is life,
Blinking with impressionist eyes.
Where destination is found in this bowl, encircling a cone of silence that runs--
We close our eyes to breathe freeness,
To embrace the cartography on our lips,
Delineating the wood stumps like symphonic strings on a crescendo.
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