From clay to jungle

Tonight I can magnify
has the room been flowed with mysteries?
A plumed carpet making a fluidic thing of a impossible meeting with a lady.
Against the fuming pasture, many smothered wax.
So the decisive purity lives on in a orange, the blazing house of the stalks of cattail, the arcane pencil that is clear and perfect.
The soul knows this, that life in it's emerald boxes is as endless as the defender.
The reasons for my respect are rejoiced in my eyeballs of gem.
For a day, maybe too few to count, I rested under a unrelenting rain
at a post office, waiting for the mountaineer to be next to.
With its mourning breathe and you'll ask why doesn't his poetry entertain of prizes and cashmere lakes
and the sensual banners of his native land?
Draw from it the arrogant point of view of its own projection.
The somber dignity of the stalks of cattail!
Garden was no longer above the transmission threshold.
Our new miracle, our vertical splendor lines.
A line in front of a quadrangle, the bitterest workings of pure law.