One has a wish to shake them from their pots root and stem, for the sun to gnaw. Walk out again into the cold and saunter home to the fire. This day has blossomed long enough. I have wiped out the red night and lit a blaze instead which will at least warm our hands and stir up the talk. I think we have kept fair time.
Time is a green orchard.
If you had come away with me into another state we had been quiet together. It was too strong in the air. The pounding of the hoofs on the raw sods stayed with me half through the night. I awoke smiling but tired. Go to sleep to the lunge between foam-crests, refuse churned in the recoil.