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Amber Embers

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A leaf of secrets, curled, whispers in tongues of resin— golden smoke unspools the knots of mortal hours.

Earth's green alchemist,

it spins the sun's slow language into fleeting wings, a lullaby for thorns.

Ancient roots hum low, cradling the weightless mind where shadows dissolve in an inkwell of stars.

Time folds, soft as cloth— the world, a half-remembered dream, held in the cradle of a single, drifting breath.

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