grappling with the fog,
streching across the soil, dark and aromatic
hands grab various old roots, touching them for reference
and then passing them over-
they'll always be there, right?
knees slightly padded, ego scathed.
searching, selfish, and climbing with the only means
available, and that is sight.
so tall, and white, and clear.
get up and go, run for your life,
if you can.
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