What do you do in the day when you are thronged but the clustered clouds seem maximized to resistance? You stand in the place of autumn, and list objectives. Notes twinkle in the offing, that might be music, might be words. If words are so easy, easy as clouds, then let the reading convey the position you need. You are read by the extent of stars balanced by extremely accurate conjectures. Did you read that somewhere, or are you quick? A poem cannot mean more than words. You do the day, writing positions and placing acclamation into arguments. Someday, you will realize that this is not a challenge, it is just plain facts providing a motor. Read from the centre outward, requisition the charm.
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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