No barometer but yellow
                 Forecast of wide fields that they give out
                       Themselves, giving out they stand
                                     In total freedom,

                   And will stand and day is down all of it

                   On an ear of corn. One. The color one:
                               One, nearly transparent
With existence. The tree at the fence must be kept

Outside, between winds; let it wait. Its movement,

                      Any movement, is not

In the distillation. Block it there. Let everything bring it
                To an all-time stop just short of new
                               Wind    just short
                       Of its leaves:
                                            its other leaves.

                                          One.

                                        Inside.

                                        Yellow.

                                  All others not.

                                         One.

                                         One.