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We wondered whether we could push 

through the dusky silence of the mountains,

an old song stabs at the corners of the evening.

In the folds of the hills we read our fault lines. 

Desires, like distant echoes, ebbed and flowed

like a dead melody over the vast expanse 

of emptiness

Its time that returns are planned, some bags are packed, 

some silences affirmed.

Its time for the awe of wonder to dig deep within.

Its time that the eyes see, accept the 

changing proclamations of time