Parading

Let the / desert bloom through ruins we can look out of, let us

Wild sings the bird of the heart in the forests / of our lives.

A hand holds out whatever

Orange swirling flame of days,

No, I woke. The rest I’ve forgotten.

Living is no laughing matter:

Please linger / near the

Be patient with whatever comes.

Hands full of sand,

You must put the objects