Tall enough to warrant a particular word for the expression of tallness, given birds as a general category, the blue heron plants its feet. This positions the world there, where anything brief may be. In water, by water, or on firm land itself. The world makes a strong plantation. Fish, frogs, insects, that sort of thing as possible food and plenty. Pointy beak in the extremis of living delivers the culminating darting moment. The thought basks electric. Greek philosophers in the ages rode heron into oddity and back. You can see that, right? Heron flight says something about expanse. The legs drag behind, the neck curves, the wings sweep with impossible levitation. Blue heron weigh as much as any myth, sculling to the next wet place, which you may never see. It still happens, with or without you.
The work becomes chiding of sunlight. The work is elegy and shaded. The principle ciphers as a god, in the way transience is purpose. Transience works this brief, ending fields, making trees concern. The hell of halting midway identifies the work of burning thru. Forever makes a sign. Sign makes worthy. Indeed the tramp of feet forward concludes any sentences but suggests more. Long sentences, stupid words. The caroling heard by Dante, brilliantine remorse for a better tide. The long road up from down, and turned around. The work then becomes the work now, as stained glass similitude. Anxious in the class structure of catastrophe, the baying song over all. Nothing to do but be done. Ruskin gave you papers to remind you. Slow battering concedes the earth in time. Time being functional and oblique. The worker inside sees the nation by exhalation. Transitive connection sports of culture. The class that ends becomes the class that begins, both left and right.
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