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thank you, seven hills
and the infinite glandular mountains
that palpitate below you, streaming
live and in high definition,
regurgitating water,
like a river.
there have been a decade
of chapters closed, pages flipped
and numbers stretched as far as the eye
can wander.

valiantly, you glide through life the way
you would across the plain of an ice-skating rink:
gravity influences you to march on proudly
or fall and slide;
either way, a circle never stops and you
are likely to loop in the same pattern
for an eternity:
i
have believed a multitude of times
that the sentence had ended and the last word
fell short and the silence knew silence
infinitely on course.
but
here you are, stricken
in the way of my kin:
you have never shown growth through the ages.

low though the fire may ember
there is a home and you are loved.