"The field pretends itself."

The field pretends itself.

A revelation of dynamics a sort of prayer without 

that turns, reveals

in turn the dynamics

of revelation. Sit and watch without the surround

that turns a tree of flame red house

rebuilding plunges through all limit. Limns us, lambs. The mark.

We are marked. To even lift a wing. I hear Dryden.

Simple round a ring against blight against agriculture against

everything I say the words look past me to where rings must pass with half-hour hush.

Silence of sending. A red house swims down to the root. The tree

that is a torus, created, and there is another tree within it without

surround, a made thing. White blue, Gaussian hollow. But mixed, 

the things are mixed up.  Any tree of moment is a hill half in shadow, 

chih over chih, simply this is so quickly most complex

angels are mixed with the dreams the carry.

I pretend to be a manger and see what happens.

They told me the window is the house, that the cup contains the blood.

I take these things to find the rest, it is my quest! Redeem the dust

under the oven, sky in a puddle: all blood, all window