Beneath the bare trees stripped to sky, and smelling of dust, two old hands hold, fold and refold a thin sheet of earth. 'Where is the wind? And why is the wind never a tree anymore?' the hands ask, folding. 'The bare branches of the bare trees no longer hold anything. All falls through the thin earth. Why, even the sky,' the hands say, 'has dropped all of its clouds.' Kobus
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