not periods of time but mild statements, particular to the climate. eager to inhale the last drop of spring arch, the way our hands hold anything and we are together. but the cold is white, asking for something. do the cards spread upon the table explain a hidden moment, or is the poem only half expressed? a sheet of snow, upon which to draw conclusions. a shame or even more of a point. we could discuss the distance of cold, but later, after we having defined our warming, and the effect of rating our time together.
moments later, like a thump of snow, the churning of extra snow condition on a dying race of interest. interest sticks to point, point remains the 'same'. period. closing signifies the intent of opening. winter becomes a verb, somehow. touched after a calm. THEN heat, a merriment of fling. fling seems thru daily, with weight added as a night. night construes dreams, lifts full moon, drugs the candidate. and we know the sentence. it was saw, a cut together.
saw delivers impressively. cuts downright, until mayhem of letter. letter improves the word. we're together. together itself has a home, a making, a poem. sudden. summer ended suddenly, autumn came and went quickly. Walden Pond (nearby) dried up, then filled again, all in a trice. the trice was interview. it was peopled. it took time. then time reversed or was sensed, or enough of a word survives for fit. then it was quizzed to be generous, or curious (what's the diff?). then a trance of fighting thru some coldness. here's a present tense. it becomes you
