The sky shares a simple rain and grey peace of morning news. We join in a gather, tying words to an effort. The sun is a could that looms for moments, some and all. We knew all time in its scent of rolling numbers. It provides a music that rolls a piper chord, mornings all a-bloom. Today is nature even if facts don’t exist. Just a dream of three strings sounded together or even more connection. The dream feeds house sparrows in their launching shrubs. Stand in the floating room, partners, this day, this day.
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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