I'm going home the old way with a light hand on the reins making the long approach.
Meanwhile let us cast one shadow in air and water.
To build is to dwell.
One way of ending the poem is to turn it back on itself, like a serpent with its tail in its mouth.
Love, we are a small pond.
My writing time needs to surround itself with empty stretches, or at least unpeopled ones, for the writing takes place in an area of suspension as in a hanging nest that is almost entirely encapsulated.