But my feet are anchored, rooted, toes squeeze loam, drink-in, blister burst and seep, biodegradable man sole-worn, warm, ivy growth clambering ankles, grass about the calves rising still. And deep in: the stoking: coal the boiler wants fed in endless shovelling - red hunger mouth of need, muscle, movement - the sweat, the push, the dig, the throw, the greed. And the fire never out, never low, never dies, and far up in the light the green crown swaying and higher still the sun is coursing, blood all boil, all burn and seething flare. Again far down, below, under and within the feet go deeper still rooting down and down to where white flowers begin where tiny, unknown tongues sip at fire.
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