Cursor slides up. It's the only increment possible and it makes you like the rest, tremble with ridges succumbing each ache that wishes to draw clear, erupt into warm hadji's cloak

that's where it went. Placement. Pertains to what might have been lost in the flickering steam. "Follow the palms to the outcropping." There you find the springs

from which the city got its name. A Turk motions. Further. Its twisted rock profile stabs the air until inside you see the stream that trickles from it, the trees bent and hungrily

half-immersed into a fecund gurgle. In such a way the actual view is not restrained. But here, within earshot of desolation, a setting evocative of that Biblical myth.


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