nothing is perfect, but nothing worth striving for comes without imperfection along the way.
a soundless sea on the other side of the hill,
the road falling up
sentimentality, repetion, making things too: eh.
a kind of release that
doesn’t come without
a giving up of something.
infatuated with discordant humming
to consider as one considers
the migrating birds, or the sharp wind
blowing back the reeds impossibly.