Parading

No matter how close two sensations, passing from one to another pink is the slice

In your litany of glass boxes

Ferns of language pressed into the soft wax cylinders of

you are still summer

It is stranger than all strangenesses,

Animals with no names. I send them off

Stars when you shine, you know how I feel

A beautiful and melancholic picture.

Like the silence which

I write the year, seems like a year you