This Side of The Glass

I watch the earth
breathing
from my window
in the silence,
from this side
of the glass.
And I see her chest
heaving and then
descend
through the wind
that makes its way
through the bending
of the tops
of the trees.
And I wonder,
how long?
Has she really lived?
And how little
does she ever
change or age?
Like the rest of us,
who she gives
birth to
every day,
and every day,
takes some of us back.

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