halfway there

i tried, for the purposes of my own delight, to create a list, upon which the traces of every hard lesson would appear like dust, or frost, illuminated on the surface and sparkling; an all serving list, made beautiful by brevity, each word clear and etched fine, as if on glass. But when i got to the end, I had to start way back at the begining, at when i returned to the begining all there was to say was:

the merest morning light, certain strong smells, lover of animals, your name in my hand really hurt and then I never saw you again, a moratorium, brave, give me my shoes back, was that even possible, and never again.