Parading

in summer I step outside

I bring thee Proof

or a morning fresh like a rhythm guitar

A certain kind of Eden holds us thrall.

Now that See you later and tomorrow are forgotten

Just beyond first gaze could now be seen

Here’s what I think I’m trying to say:

The moon can’t know it is serene and clear,

Look at the sky: is there no constellation

People wonder about what you are pursuing.