He comes from huddled huts,
from mountainsides,
center of the world.
Smokes, drinks, abstains.
Freeform yet closes
onto himself
like nightshade.
Rolls into my path.
My hardened armadillo.
His armament
protects me from
cutting winds
when I climb with him,
fly to him.
I have a feeling
of free falling--
no edging, skirting.
No margins.
No borders.
Assured, always.
Beautiful & blind.
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