cobble stones on fire, cars uprooted, it was a strange nexus and bright bolt. We knew we would be younger than today, always that same stress-tone and nodding after. Bison as big as, feeling entitled promise and big years. We weren’t arranged so properly and too bookish but as the fit of time and wheat stalks in fields swaying. We proposed without exactitude but in flinty response a spark. It could constitute a binge but did not. All this in the certain year and then. Now produces a traffic of manyness, meeting and entreating as simplified breath. It would be stone wonderful to follow into an Idaho of history and dimension, mapped by eyes and invited steps. Lewis died with extinguished story, Clark stayed announced. Today old mongering remains in shivering, unplacid worldview by shaky virtue of amazing wither. Rightly leaning wrong in crossfire, purpose beyond completion, our own gravity stoked for how we intended the lucid green, at our feet, at our hands, at all round togetherly step by step, summer upon the autumn edge. Revolutions made tides, the sinking feeling carries the world, but abide abide this earnest map.
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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