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.
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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