So it is true that goldfish only die on dreamless nights. Punctuation is dictatorial, also helpful, at least in those situations. A bland wing does what petroleum cannot. Don't wake up! While in the most recent installment of my gargantuan novel I abolished all pilgrims.
A board on which a few words were painted. A poem in which a blue streamer was compared to my late grandfather entering Heaven. Tea helps. A little bit of crying never hurt anyone but still. We are the signal we are waiting for.
Worth waiting for? Something always happens around the tenth or eleventh sentence. Plastic plants shift and shimmy in the soft currents, the cloudy H2O. We have been waiting for the arrival of insight, which will alter our behavior, and transform the grim and grimy world to a beautiful gold city with streets that run with chocolate and malt whiskey. While in the meadow - right there - a calico bull quietly ponders the death of an Iris.
The syllabus was not in any way helpful. Prayer is akin to pine trees in winter. Let's put Jesus in it just to say we did. The silver bells atop the church were silenced by rust. And yet, in passing, one is reminded that all is well, or will be.