To not ever say it’s brilliant.
To be incomplete (despite tension on the surface giving a clear boundary to each
drop). To say less and
(The grit of not being strays far, owning the moment, still.)
To thin too thin.
To crowd out the day (as it shines on the ample smoothness of each
shadow). To grow less and
(Why does the happening ground itself in the mundane, and terribly so?)