Yak
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[79] Y A K Led to a bridge that fails to hold, down I go, never to know your hand again. Falling, my horn’s a letter in air, a turning prayer wheel. Tell me, master, of trees I’ve never seen, of what the wind does to leaves and everything born. The sun bathes the snow, and you cannot help. I feel the cold splash of the blue lake. Your sacks of salt drag me under. ...
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