Flame stands in its ungentle passing.
Write it; move on.
Pied white ‘n dull-green ‘n shim’ring black, treasuring the trove you’ve gathered.
Itsumo to eien ni.
Itsumo no keikai.
Take the ink from the (FlexGrip) pen; articulate the uncontrollable.
Am I ever writing this? You were always reading this. The stars knew they were burning…
Writing about sharing writing.
(to the usual) time of day,
adorned with diff’rance.