the broad back mountains of there is some dust of mellow light a failing day milked and honey dewing the tremoring gardens. i tend them with my mouth, are they well?and i ask the shop keeper what isle may i find some cotton tubes. he seems a man slightly shocked ears crinkled in the veneer of youth chipped clean an man oldly. am i odd here, and outside the lashes of air break on trees the leaves muttering a basic pleasing sound
the light is angry in stark dress that is up and i see its nakedness on every item languishing on the shelves. but here and there is some shadows, it 's not new. this place. like the man. it waits for silently some patrons who might find it amongst the hills. cleanandwaiting. he walks it every day sifting the echoes with some boots leather creaking. startling the empty air with his generous presence. generally i walk about and look. and i found them. "seven.25" ok