The latest colouring and the day begins. Shrouds of perplexed words, used in rightness, fall smoothly thru the air. Assumptions lead to dawn. Exceptional words don't know person. As person saying person, leave room now. Poem is a trait, not a vent. Quester fuddles in reach of “right word”. Your word for ocean is still ocean. To clarify, you aren't there. I am not I, We aren't tall together.
poems, fireflies...