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H: I look up from the bottom of the ocean
Watching birds like a burst of dandelion seeds in motion

A: The wind, the unfallen, the circling tide,
The depths, the growth, the current's potion.

H: Drawing patterns in the pink and orange cirrus,
That fading phosphorus rim of their silent compass.

A: The anchor, the edge, the rinding sky,
The sun, a liminal, a cataract eye.

H: What do they know of bones that in roots lie curled
When trees bend to their flight toward the burning edge of the world?

A: To climb the grain, the ribs of Heaven
Ignite the leaf to bear surface, even.

H: And what songs might they learn on that ladder of stars
With the sun fixed like a jewel set in a guitar?

A: No more than stream run dark in shade
The verse of water: forest's cave.

H: And you the stranger may not see the lines
That the hunter has traced a thousand times.

A: Deeper still to fern and wave,
The heaven's brilliance and the depths of space.

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