even the lagging hour eats the rock
sips the moisture into its airy throat
slowly it eats the radiant day alive
in silence patiently chews
the dragging day too sculpts the mountain
loosens roots and rolls rubble
its whistling breath blows the grit
into the valley and washes it down
what hope then has a man in a year
digestion begins at the mouth
each month is a tooth testing the flesh
then begins the grinding
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