Mast

Mast

Like the bubbles, trapped under large stone
In the spring in Hana, must
Struggle with the cold of the mountains and
The hand of the young who
Wants to show off, to friends: “I can lift it.”
Water is pristine, it is cold.
I am the lava of a volcano, at skirt of Mast
A mountain; that drunkest.

by Nassy Fesharaki

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