and what is
is beyond us
us
in our asphalt forests
surrounded and impossibly removed
from granite or ether
or either
for now that we are grown
to such great and terrible heights
we stand worlds above
our hallowed roots
and yet
still slip softly down
to empty air
on stillborn shorelines
down
through the thick and throbbing swell
of blood-flecked waves
down down
below the foaming surface
ghostly in thought
down
ever softly down
to listless twilight grey
and shadows half-projected
by stars we’ve never seen.
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