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Hills
This place
It’s dark frame worthy of museum placement
In twilight as gold as it is green and gray
The time
Elements a patient sculptor without handtools, schedule
Nature paints coats of sage and other brush strokes
The sky
Full of life even after dropping its payload
My feet move across the palette mixing, mixing
We reside within jewels on the folds of a robe
The prints of steps of my kind and others
Our waste and scent join the collage
To see we are one with it
This place
These hills.