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From
Samsara at Quantum Zeno
Émigré
On the elegant field
A string of mustangs
Explode as they appear
Discolor the atmosphere
In Kinhin, left hand
Orbits solar plexus
Shining gem empties to sepia
We wander alien plains
Firm abdomen, straight neck
We circuit the earth
Our Spanish doesn’t match
Your opulent rolling pronunciations
One leg surrenders while another awaits
And I do not
I do not blossom
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