grandfather cuts loose the ponies. this is where I find Columbia. this is where I climbed a mountain a thousand times over. where I looked up out the window lost every time until saw them. where I ran and still run my hands over the old corroding metal to feel the rust ball up and move underneath them. to hear the sound escape between the rot copper horse and my palm. to see the bright orange dirt stain my skin and clothes, as I fall back down the mountain to the road.
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