Ebb of daylight address from tone of nightfall. When hard effort construction finally dilutes amidst evening of blue milk. A fateful weakness balancing out with the undertones of snow. What settles as drifts and couches, collected sediment, swarthy emotion to the few such things now said and done. Not in resolve, rather what’s prone toward depth upon the domestic realm. Consolation, perhaps. As well as endless phases of unreal clarity while aqueous and insubordinate. To the point where what truly consists, only simplest perspective. How near, how far, the pale moon’s faceless visage.
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