Find the Sun

Fractures. Staples. Pistons. Lime. What works with the machinery of taking? Connecting? Who am I to measure the fragility of the total process? It forages beyond me, for sure. Yet I can’t shake it home. The days toil in the work of hours, running down those things which you’d run up, although, at day’s end, the path is level, but not necessarily slanted toward the sun. You must find the sun, and build that bridge, and walk that steep road winding through the planets and not around them. Andromeda cannot live the relationship between Earth and Sun. Only revolutions change the color of the sky.