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Mother,Mother
There are fragments of us in the top soil
Traces of us in every basin
The wind threads us together
And dons the planet in a living garmet
Pulsing , thriving
We, the living garb of an epoch
Each sown in sentience
The tailor, the Mother of Mothers
The great contraction within the expanse
She is the womb and the widdler
As much the architect as she is the structure
I witness more of us in her than the flesh we claim
More of us in the Mother of Mothers
Than the names and membranes
That allude to separation
Traces of us in every basin
The wind threads us together
And dons the planet in a living garmet
Pulsing , thriving
We, the living garb of an epoch
Each sown in sentience
The tailor, the Mother of Mothers
The great contraction within the expanse
She is the womb and the widdler
As much the architect as she is the structure
I witness more of us in her than the flesh we claim
More of us in the Mother of Mothers
Than the names and membranes
That allude to separation
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