a shaven man sits atop a sloped plain
sweat beads upon his brow
only to flow down his recessed cheek
wrist bracing its fall
pooling and itching
yet never wavering thought
as a freshly cut limb of tree,
wounded by sharpened axe,
shifts course, forking beyond breach
continuing north, onward
without emotion,
never bleagured, willing
to wonder...
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