They look for roots for transplants

 Insensitive tree without words. The trees are coming. They remove the earth holes. They look for roots for transplants. They want to be bodies. Well here, here. We have ourselves on the limits, on the horizon, at the same time. Incomplete, unhappy, desperately loving. Carnality divides us, together, yunta. We remove ourselves from the whole as from the whole. There there, love. There the body. Fate, fatum, fairies of time, Ananké.

Sense, then ex-isto as a hypo/thesis.