Son of God , thirsty crows , citrus leaves are all the big child remembers at sunset ,the sun to go behind trees and dog barks. There are lotuses in a pond smelling hills. The water we drink mixed with indup seed, so as to clarify the muddy waters , if any.
In the gold of a sunset the slate is filled, rather too much with connections, wires arrows straying beyond the wood frame. But we still see the faint lines of alphabet, thirsty crows on trees, gowned teachers amid smells of sandal paste , lotus ponds we drank waters from, mixed with seed, there at the top , below the wood frame.