to the south the city a night kingdom past the amber squares of quiet neighborhood evening. i may go a-roving to take the air, the saturated breath of springtide. i agree this space is self-indulgent and cloys, but if my star in cyberspace wants to sparkle, i say let it. and i agree that one only grows in the now, tipping always into the future, but a tree cannot withstand the weather if its roots are not deep and wide. the light i shed on who i have been is sunlight on the moon, or the phantom light of stars.
upon what is not spoken how could i improve?