In View Of The Mountain

Dots wandered here, there,
crossing the ancient streams and
clearing pest trees –
more of them came, building lines,
boarding and merging,
going downriver, upriver,
building small cubes,
until the valley is lit at night,
until one day a dot thinks to come up
and introduce itself,
I never would have thought to call them much of anything,
being as they’re just little dots,
and I don’t suppose they’d think
an ant or a pimple had a name, either.

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