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One moment dissolves into the next like rain into dust.  I stand beneath a trembling palm, lens open, mind emptied by vapor.  The towers, half cloud, half ruin, lean inward as though listening to their own remembered thunder.  Breath moves through me but belongs elsewhere.  I press the shutter—not to take, but to listen further.

Rain gathers and falls—
five towers rise through the mist,
a stair of silence.


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