on an island almost in its entirety a stratovolcano and already inhabited and green and ideally located, not owned by anything, not even another country where homes are full of found objects people brush at night forgetting it’s easy to summit unabated, blessed and finegrained as basalt, dressed in dust and dioxide and rise more regal and sovereign than you ever imagined and find firefinch unthreatened by rain shadow the color of persimmons sharing a simple tamarind tree and then to become a simple tamarind tree, to pull nests up from the earth and root them where they won’t be touched, to jut and bud with a height that feels final and a body made from wild
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