Guise me to foreshortened horizons. Seemed the sunset was so close and falling. Hard falling sun on the river I drifted on and all around my head and shoulders like that legendary beating. The beating sun. Should life be like drifting, like in the sun and like late in the day. There is only so much a symbol can hold even when correctly spelled and hot under the falling dusk.
Of course imagination offers infinite in forms and in the mist. Is mist so different from matter...but now I'm trying to make a meaning again and it's late. In the day and in the sun long gone but still beating if you think of it. Like your heart, it's beating, down, inside and on the other side. That continuity and that abstract knowledge that came into the boat in childhood. The sun remains and returns even when it's not there. Sunrise and I could quote the time based on another thing I've not yet seen but know of. There is so much for us in the mist and dusk and in the night.
