Light is a carriage, and it carries the Long Knives into the place of exclusion. Years of trials, culling the land of interdiction, then straining. Life is filled with boundary. We called them, with fiend of word, into a forest. Forest delivers the coin, which is nation. The implicit saturation becomes distorted as monolith stands. Each fort feels strickened, because people. People then said, with a lighting of trees. Trees are peopled. Everyone stopped to haul, but it was not time. Music slowed as George Rogers Clark led a slog. The marsh was deep water to walk. Do we pretend to be there? This is the electric stream around nation.
It begins with a scanning of light, a settlement of words. The lightly fracture of Bird sound begins in the office of seeing. Not sentiment but sense, as cool as Green in the Early days. Pasture resists nonpasture, no one Refers to none. All remains including nothing. Morning Is belief and there simply there. Tides go freshly to the point.
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