Something to read in the clear light. Immediate tree and partaking bird. Read indigo as dark dash. Bunting provides a thin woolen stuff, chiefly for flags and signal. As a bird however the nature becomes massive. Confederated in the moment of observation then strapped to ideal, until ideal fades at sunset. The immediate tree remains, shadowed from and equal to futurity while fancy machinations envelope slow beaming across fields in mind. But then the bird there in function of clear light. The function a rose, simply. Tidal wash up the shore for each ever of breath.
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