pastures cleaned by dry air
a heat navigating through invisible channels
broken only by occasional shade (trees withered by yellow fevers turning red
desolation dreamed of --or so it is written
about a place
where the ocean
meets the land and speaks words funneled into windy screams
guttural words
spoken sweet goodbyes
sand is picked up from the sky to build mountains
(built on the backs of ants (our mass) a bulking enterprise
hell bent to stay alive
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