Milky with sleep. Heaven and earth. The world is never more clearly around us.

Put your ear to the limestone and you can hear blind rivers flowing underground

Spiritual unfoldment. Men belong in the kitchen.

The sun and I and everything in between this world that was once a luminous archive of things evolved and adapted in slow-moving specificity

The year the fires would not stop and the world was under war-shadow. The blueblack message at the end of the garden is garbled. Meanwhile we're supposed to be here among pine trees and nice breaths of fresh air.

The moon on the bath. I have always been a sponge, the sort of sea sponge that exists only by the grace of water flowing constantly through my body except water here is the words of others, which means all words.

Everything is not to be made new again. We shall be inhabited in the old way, as ideal things came to us. Not a cloud of butterflies but the dream of a cloud of butterflies.

The First Feast of Flames. Birthday Eve Biochar

I dreamt so long of all the trees I'd take you to in you first

summer.

Blossoms on the branches, flowers in the sky