Transliteration

All of these years the
center of the earth myself
you marbled and melted
rising like islands in
ocean blue a surrender
forward in continental shelf.
Now of the air we are
high currents as east as
west entering every space
each in measure one
of our breaths.

What comes to be a part
of the wind never returns
the same in sense dispersed
by ever smaller parts
settling still on all it
touches until thought is
all there is to smell.

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