A maple against daylight has breadth and the dark thin substance of shot up shadow; this is a guarantee
as local time is disguised among skimpy swags and willowish leaves, living structures aspected as abstract in the ‘inner’ harbor of glare cut from coastal space.

Space (within) doesn’t know you’re looking... doing nothing, watching you look.

Space’s slowed us down to furnace the pace

for full positions in another trace or matter, earlier or later

but even later it could rain.