We are the wilting leaves,
desiring the right to live and flourish
as individual sources of breath
in a polluted forest.
Thick haze looms.
Fallen plumes lay still.
The ash
collects
on the branches,
mixes with the humidity,
and hardens smooth over the scars.
The vestiges sleep deep within
the petrifaction, beneath the reach
of a scratched surface.
The vegetation awaits
a fresh current to push against
the profuse syrup of air
and awaken the dormant,
fading green.
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