Warmer sun's day says, it's a sparrow talk ground punishments are rescinded as light elevates boxes from the sea to the bluer ocean. Bright thoughts penetrate the eyes' corners to individuate spectral yellow-orange blazes with a rented wrecked aspen. Tall budsmen, you've been peopled against the concrete fact of your desire to live among kinds and kinds and kinds. Elegiac noses smell the past and see miasma as the cardinal red feather death; mouths willing to taste see pine needle pricks as beauty's life and fate. Another story in a book once a conifer, always ink, from thought to think we are sinking from progress to a ceiling cellar safe. Top mornings scrape the after eleven edge; ticks sucked the tock out of the clock's ears and time won't hear our smiles or our tears.