Never been a beginning but it makes sense. Vowels form around consonants, picking voice for words, in the dark language night. Same things are going on. Prodding often to make. Same night same, for a voice of music or cold brick head. That bad headstone says nothing, presiding as it does as nothing. Period fixes sentence in stasis, in period. Nothing attends to nothing.
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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