too night

Just in through the beak strainers. The green water! awaits you. It, and all the leaves it holds. Bayleaf floats. They are, the ones fallen from the above, the half-shade maker. Liking the ducks, the subtler commandeer, and the orange beaked, unsure footed ones.

just now and true

And oh so real! It is foggy out but this reflects not on me. The tunings of guitars and I can form sentences to-day. To-morrow in the world to be out. Something like a cloud floats through the rooms, from the strummings of boy to boy. To see I sit and wait, and the breath comes in my lungs with occasional clarity, bouts of unnoticed breathings. Orange juegos but not in fruits but colores. Reminds of life in the pits of sic-beds. The water turned on morningtimes, whence a forward is looked to and I languish in a pretty near-end of the soft and subtlelest January yet.