In spindle's jungle, a darter Breathes
Racing from tree to tree, it seethes.
It whispers with him, older than sound:
"set fire to towns
purify the grounds"
The child of asymmetry
Spindle, to peak mountains found
Weaves nets for catching the unbound
They catch the air
Where the child, once there,
runs, breaking through
Flies, speeding true.
now up to a pace the child approves
like a heart-healing sin
the flurry of unbroken east
the burning of a freedom beast
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