Open the sky. There is where the sky could be, if here is not quite available. You can look at the sky and think of all the verbs you know how to do. The ones you can't do need your assurance. And the sky will hug every word inside you with the ripe advantage of meaning to mean. The stars of sky seem brusque but only because you consort with circles. You forget range, react to obloquys, while a glint of light travels three forevers just to meet you or what you think. You have an unreasonable plan without looking upward. Leave that aside. Light and dark have no sides, they just stretch a universe or two with implied emphasis. Stars, clouds, birds, and a heavy anvil of wind pronounce timely mobility and traces. That strict point in space you may thrive in. The sky won't quit, neither should you.
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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