Saturday, March 3, 2012

Preramble

The importantlanguage stutters to close. The mountain of it tall tires patience, like foam on seawater. A battlebegins, even as Europe disappears. No one complains. England will returntopastures, graying evenings, the wedding of light to rocks and trees. George Mallory will climb foreverin the decent light of snow. Everesthas been a town for ages, with little people next to it. Fury resighns to patience, returning eagles to conundrum, alerting branches to the rivalry of foliage. We take oddnotions to the tops of things.

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