observing context it grew and grew feeding on specifics declaring
its earth they trod on to be its food, its mycorrhizal language-
growth to be of itself, to be of, to be as specific as the
body breathing spores from its adopted landscape - a dark infill
environment that announced it as a presence in the first place,
a matter of pure taste, I'm getting oodles of warm wet fruit here,
that was named by the other, out there, beyond the frame
but not forgotten, spreading to consume our memories of dance
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