And Self-Identical: Mode

Nothing was done, things just
Flowed by
And I was washed, parts of me
Cleaned
Away others farther than I can recall.

A bird opens its heart to the wind
For instance
And subtilizes across rare geometries
Of squares
And diamonds eschering their latitude
, Arrives
(Finally when the sun) round the globe...

This is the back and forth of time:
Superficialities
Of sunset, since shadows everything
Grows.

When are you going to speak in sentences,
Poet?

Putting a foot directly a foot, I feel no
Air
Compulsion by infinite spaces between

(Z)

... - Since everything is the same.