Oh, that bitterness. Taste of wheat in the field, cakes at breakfast. No middle, middling, or mildness, only inside. The attraction of the distant, sun hats in a pool, unframed.
All sizes fit something.
These are not things unless tuned, unless less than turned. Shifting light on water. A string a thing to crawl on. How we come near reasons for questions. In vast dark you could take a piece of and touch nothing.