Perhaps it is today that totals all meaning of life, a
roundabout progression of time. Perhaps,
like celery, time is good for you.
Stars creep up in their stately way. Forgetting
to breathe in the night air, one had best forge
expectations in the daytime.
And another lover waits for you at the Sycamore.
Did we figure we'd be this far ahead?
Let's not lose the trail.
Ours is a recessive trait.
This is strong--nothing wasted (which is something you're good at--leaving things out in order to get to the point while still making wonderful leaps so we can help put together meaning/story . . .
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