green rendered sounds rotate round stately homes i've never known. focusing on the heart beat effects its rhythm, thereby analyzing one's being necessarily distorts the natural shape of that being when it is not undergoing analysis. i've seen thyself, the penetrating stillness of the written word; the flying fire from which our eyes derive their light. less is the darkness drifting from within. a waking cry elects to enter in. feckless, infinite. the shallows tempt my tread and i've been bested: i look and do not long to see. deceptive are these momentary trials, i linger long and linger ever less; hunger less for whatever brilliant, volatile lives becomes emblazoned by the pyre that mine decides to mimic. my pyre that attests to others previous or otherwise. without this wordless daytime wandering, where woods do not pertain to trees, where edgeless languish leaves can only rot and sink, where would we be.