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Bakong waits, rain-washed and luminous, its sandstone tiers blurred by the last threads of mist. A monk appears, stepping from forest shadow into faint dawn. Halfway down, his dog rushes up, weaving joy through the hush. Their brief communion turns the stair into breath. My lens opens to what remains: the resonance left when presence moves on.

old stair drinks the hush
dog’s joy traces saffron shadow
dawn leans into stone


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