dear, we arrest in something, yet ponds bubble emotively with unions of algae, which seems such a tease, because avast as snow covers an inch of the entire world and death lurking with prisms, and love serious for scores along the shore, where air meets water, water rises to air, air seems to invent us, and we breathe together
this sorting continues, you wrote of some plain on the horizon, I read about colours bursting from the moon, and together we rewrote a glen, now it comes to this season of strings in the air, each attached to the end of summer, which runs the length of autumn, thru winter and tickles the bursting fronds and flowers of spring, such a reactive simulation of causation, with beauty dusting our particles, and so many reviewed assurances scanned for better worth... these poems, written severely, arrive meetly, posed or not, still need words
