Parading

we’re in the time the sun produced , or out of time

Adiós devil of rare delight

The stars who were created by words

I am a bush both of roses and forget-me-nots.

Soft as an ant’s patrol

An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.

Age swept past me

I need you

Although I melt moment by moment

Will this thought do? Today there could be no doubt.