no more no less.
i like it loads.

A white lonely sail/in the azure dusk of the sea…//What does he seek in the farawy land?/what has he left when leaving home?//The waves dance/the wind is howling,/the mast both bends and creaks//Alas! he seeks no happiness/ it is not happiness he shuns// A stream of blue is uner him/ a ray of gold is up in sky,/ But he, the rebel, asks for storm,/like any storm would bring him peace.
(Lermontov)

the unclaimed things come up and revel
in the simple act of non-recognition.

on that day, the sky is white, the ground is white, and the branches are white.

and the wide world suddenly is limpid, lucid, transparent.

only the dark undersides of the branches point us upwards.

and too many sorrows

does not feel so good.

the crows agree.