Wind assembles the day. The reaches to and from places become prominent as world shape. You can smell wood burning, ocean scent provokes last minute consumerism, trees bend with a whiff, flowers save the day. The wind appears here without staying: from here to elsewhere, without repose. That rush of system accepts all energies, even yours, for sport or maunder. Tomorrow placed as the far end of today. Yesterday remembers the place where the wind began. Sentences center on pronouns and the verbal effect. Wind makes speech and verb. Now towers sway, sun flares, meaning seems based on weathered rock. Wind remains as a going thought.
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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