Tree of Words


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3. Irbis

I love

every ammonite[^2]

weeping

from the Portals of Creation,

the melancholy of meadows

levigating

the Steles of Dracaena[^3] resin,

the hoarfrost

sleeting

in the Dwell of Rustles.

You are

the Eternal Irbis

that breaches dunes

in my wrists,

the Desert Rose

that, caustic,

germinates its parched winds.

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