The water looks so good in this admissible smidgin. Ocean has been pronounced, in deference to your size. A faint eyrie of thought occurs, reflection of sky on the unlunging surface. Limitless sky enclosed. Politics makes ocean sounds, tho puddles. You step into puddle as if death were the messenger. Puddle means remnant in your ocean wayward. Tears collect because poems must be rendered in keen tones. The puddle directly ahead apportions all the messages from the sky you imagined. Your wet feet slake. Monstrance puddle holds love possible. A step in immersion makes chance. The ocean itself cannot stop you. The puddle bears your best smallness, even while sere sun shines.
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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