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  • The ribbon is deaf, sightless – dust dead. Its bones are steel and concrete, yet it connects the worlds
    of home and work, friends here and there, and everything else. Nothing living stands or will be permitted
    to be still for long. Everything moves because it must.

    But there it is. In that still point between traffic barriers, its arms reach east and west as blurs move
    northbound and southbound. A foreign life reaching, toxic gasses failing, leaf spreading accommodation. Proof
    that life can stand before the unfeeling, unknowing, uncaring cars passing at death taunting speed.

    I'm quite sure she passed this way. Poets often see things that are not there to be noticed.
    No doubt she saw the tree; but she was retreating.
    She would not have acknowledged its significance, not then.
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