Air waits for us
after we fall. It comes
perfectly together, just as a lake
does, in its every share giving
the fish paths as long
as they last. For us,
air contains all. After
we fall it waits. At the last
it is frantic with its hands
but cannot find us.
Was it a friend? Now,
too late, we think it was.
That’s why we became grass.
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