The glass curve of this small planet
falls away in the distance
like a race unrun,
like a lifetime

In the middle there's a vast river
temperate and translucent
The mirror of us,
our window

But the landscape is changing
The terra beneath us, shifting
And rows of trees have come forward,
black and twisting
with purpose

And now I can see
this smooth ground is the lens of an eye
this river is an iris
these trees are lashes
And this whole world is about to

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