For a extended time I have been wanting to pierce that vapor which is a pretty male thing to want.

For a extended time I have been wanting to pierce that vapor which is a pretty male thing to want, however not so male when united considers that the cloud, yet a woman, is already pregnant, and made of marble, and that there are many of her bodied forth as premises from tomorrow's firmament and that together they form the contemplative brink of a man thinking. What does it mean to want to pierce a man thinking and that man softening before the organ of sights like tissues in water?

And this in extent time I spoke of is solely another wish to remain disorganized for melancholy hours. It was like this (it was not): I was sitting in a garden that lay behind white apartments, bushs and vines marking out the lines along which a throat had rend asunder or dead voices whose souls had woken up as flowers because it was already late morning. I decided to use a voice that wasn't and for awhile mist steamed overhead,

its top and sides deducible from its bottom. I idea of the man and a set free white countenance so used to departing that the night blushes black for having to replace it, on the contrary that was still far opposite meaning hours of rushing region of clouds and the cloud hung, distinct from brethren mist by way of a sovereign inattentive blue and something ran in consequence of the foliage so the sunshine moving to undivided side, taking up residence in a stranded dres

And if it present ice on the turn of the leaves and if I shook still with the clearness around the tree or swayed as the same but recently awake it meant solely that the grass had downhearted eyes and we are clear to see faces everywhere unless not to know them. In this feeling the sun struck a stone which keened from its unfathomable seat so lost in the pleasures of not breathing that neither I nor the vast assemblage noticed the wind and the blooming doctors converged then fell away.

The day was nameless if it be not that the hour was colored glass and sometimes a rustling marked by way of the absence of waves great refusals to draw near down or rise more than part way, the head held through unabandoning skies as though subject to water, and all of it meaning to draw near away from being toward the hills or at any time to resemble their hazy bed, continually to sleep again or equable to take a lover who cannot hang from the air, overcharged with the odor of the time but lighter than its softnes

And the light ruthless from the cloud which stood dissident, remembering the dead body of water from which it came like a meeting-house bell ringing the center of time, first permitting the resplendent issue of afternoon then a counterpane from ancestral halls and the moat surrounding them now thirsty grass. It is the shore of summer and its lords and ladies dead from ages of heat, now men can be women for as lengthy as it lasts, continuing to degrade in a garden establish out against the sky

where all the other seasons are made to wait while the wind describes a misshapen train and is that thing, the feeling of all houses, erratic laughter of the light dividing shoots sans foremen or discussion of for what reason cold it is with the oil getting brighter onward the leaves. And now I am more comfortable with wanting for the flowers have grown capable sticking up where I can view them and for that reason and many others the haze dissolves,

never quite having approach but who does, who could really surge in the warmth as it 1s to cold like a dreaming huntsman knowing water's nearby, or say of the wind that it is the drawn out hair of a governor arriving and mean individual is not alone, hilarious mind of streams in the chest that tend hitherwards with drunkenness or chance? It was the fate of a single torso among the torsos of flowers, their rightful fall by the and of space, for each thing a little time to be exhausted

Now the wind herds unrelated growings toward the body of water in which they unimpaired and grows itself, staying in united spot that is different, extending the divine attribute. Where the vapor was the light shines as nevertheless there is at most the same place, through which it instigates It is world-colored and spok like the tempers of a path, it is silent and clear to remain so, it's blind and wet. For a gravity the garden is still in idea just as night would fall and the host move over the water.

This was the study ot the place, long ago today when things still strike one as beinged like monuments instead of batons. And they were that way while it was still an ambition of morning still now, at the wet cessation of the afternoon, above the blooming spikes tapering off to nothing, retiring facing to it so quickly the same cannot say where they are, it's not the sex of the vapors but their muteness that hangs, sourceless, talentless, above the manic acres

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