Parading

What if the air turns solid

I want my conscience to be / true before you;

I was looking up and I said

It is because, somehow, we keep falling out of ourselves, like detached

And I felt the earth inside the universe.

you don’t even have to be, you Only who are,

stars around the beautiful moon

Pebbles and sand erode from the cloth

a darkened ballroom,

we are running out of the glass rooms