I gladden as my knees touch concrete;
generations have spurned this moment,
while I have waited. 

Brick by bark and stick, 
trees whose uselessness constitutes a design principle 
demand ears ready to accept innumerable branches.

I, eureka, am bound to try to see;
specificities have dissolved generosity,
while my eyes gave up trying to feel.

Contact; a something came into earshot:
it's green, around a corner, and was
written three thousand years ago.

When an essence effervesces,
I smell oil.

As senescence lights regresses,
all's well and foiled.

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