A day plans winter rivers. Crust on the edge, still moving. Snow fills the trees lightly, will still tumble. Black squirrel makes a poised detail of itself, to asseverate a reign and noon. Whole clouds flatten and exhaust, the day goes on. Compromise is a promise. The squirrel fills deep space, and time will inflate. Winter is a wind, a wetness, cold, some other facts and projects. This tune, then, amidst the facts. Our marriage is loved by us both. Our gambit relies on this. We are filled with something, on this day, which rises thru the snowy clouds. Come spring and come spring. The river is not wide, it pours. Our stance remains. Winter is over before it starts.
The work becomes chiding of sunlight. The work is elegy and shaded. The principle ciphers as a god, in the way transience is purpose. Transience works this brief, ending fields, making trees concern. The hell of halting midway identifies the work of burning thru. Forever makes a sign. Sign makes worthy. Indeed the tramp of feet forward concludes any sentences but suggests more. Long sentences, stupid words. The caroling heard by Dante, brilliantine remorse for a better tide. The long road up from down, and turned around. The work then becomes the work now, as stained glass similitude. Anxious in the class structure of catastrophe, the baying song over all. Nothing to do but be done. Ruskin gave you papers to remind you. Slow battering concedes the earth in time. Time being functional and oblique. The worker inside sees the nation by exhalation. Transitive connection sports of culture. The class that ends becomes the class that begins, both left and right.
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