Feather.
Episodic silver winter
lushes past
the straightedged path.
Passion, the opposite of habit?
Whose stark sun?
A runaway spooled around wood carved into function.
Notice is a neutral act.
You wind me.
In a feasible enormous sunshine there are bodies
generously enclosing
would-be frost.
Let us pray.
Merely the leavings now.
Chance happiness.
One sweeps for reasons
undisclosed.
And light as in fresh weather.
Low weight.
Birthing old occurrence.
Who we are.
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