Offering any end the severance of its own light. Loss is a grounding in particulars thrust into fields blasted with blossoms, concurrently swayed by beasts of intentiion, building to a secluded point. Dying is indifferent rest.
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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