The apple falls because it is plump. The bit of leaf floating in the pool reacts to change. We were restless. The Doors were on television describing arcs of colour for the first time. You were a piano bench, as I recall, and I was a town in Massachusetts. Both of us saw time fly.
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.
Comments