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The last great inhale was a shriek of wind. All things left barren as they were pulled down into the granite lungs of ailing earth. Down like dredges thick and battered into small paper-like shreds. All things great and small destroyed with equal care. The draft of it swirled around the once hot center. Around the small composite heart of a plant the surface things danced in mourning and the violence fell silent.

The exhale was so  gentle. There was no explosion, no shattering, no primal scream. The flow of heat had pulsed slowly cold for too long and now pulsed no more. The weary veins of metal, the empty ocean beds, the crumbled mountain crowns; they let the sigh wash over them and let go. They let go of each other. They let go of themselves. From the far side of an old, red sun the planet hazed, a mirage on planetary scale, as atoms let go of one another. Dearest of friends letting go of each others hands. For a spare, perfect moment the planet hung still in a field of cracked moons and slow loops of solar flare. Then the atoms to grew tired and let go of themselves.

Farewell to those who knew her. A belt of asteroids her headstone and only the comets to mourn her. Wind, younger than she from a place so far she never caught glimpse of it, caught the dusty edges of her death-bed and drew her away. Long past her living days she travels, dusting her ashes on barely formed places. Little bits of beautiful memories laying hands on brilliant, shinning, new-made things.

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