“through a dead grip.”

people go into the People like forests

Family roots hold trees and branch off like so

Above the ground, some touch and entangle, a roof

Halving the light to the entanglement below:

a life-death mess of broken Falls, uncut Springs

Floating off the soil in a river of souls

A thick seaweed trough of recycled everything,

Doubles the people between memory and movement.

people as the People take to the ground like forests

roots first spread then threaded and hugging unison

Affixing there a half-lit dome of a half-left space,

Entrance, comes the person gone looking for themselves.