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Tenacity, this root in this fissure, stem submissive to a salt wind.

Ignorant of beauty, innocent of ignorance. Given the time it takes a root to split a mountain along the but against the grain like a definitive idea, after an eternity straight to the point – given the voluptuosity of time, we too, accruing wisdom like the mineral deposit in each drop of rain, would take the harder choice and pit our feebleness against the rock, to flourish downwards in the darkness, root and root into the slightest fault, we too into a slab of granite glistering before the cloudburst.

And when the shower has pierced the root and when the wedge has split the rock to open it (a grammar at the tenses), what will have been exposed, pressed flat and faded, drained between the pages


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