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Rumours of Death
We're not light enough to travel; as dense rumours madden a mind's eye to stammer to the possibility of ashes.
Neither can we calm, while searchlights are cast on moors, outbacks… that great expanse either breathing or swallowing up evidence of bone.
The earth speaks of this proof, as moistened landfills mourn. We'd place our ears to surmise where woods speak that news with fallen leaves for burial; rumours dissolved at these shallow graves, by spades, for a pinch of fact.
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