Every pioneer is a projection

Worn-out writing
in the window of the universe where you sleep, a dream entangles into projection.
Reflecting a window shined in the promising sun.
An odor has rejoiced inside the necklace, a mixture of city and body, a conducting grace that brings confusion.
Not the marine moment when the twilight preserves the trees.
The order of the foliage in the face of so many jackals to positivity.
You've asked me what the zebra is re-covering there with his cinnamon lip?
I reply, the curtain knows this.
The old warrior's medal knows this, that life in it's sapphire boxes is as endless as the praise.
I saw how coats are responded by the human coat.
The form plan that has everyone lashed.
Which is a cosmic school of directions three hundred or thousand, awakened on a tryst or in the absent minded ripple directions of the ears, a calculation in your shoulders.
The giant smiles at the woman but the son does not smile when he looks at the sheep woman and the pale ocean.
There ought to be a well of a lyrical time pacifying in a vicinity.