Parading

we forget what

World, the sadness is there; should we talk?

We live like the one sequin

Go quietly; a dream

to go with grace

what did they wish they could see, that they used to see;

I know we live slightly longer than a horse but not nearly as long as a crow

—there is leftover gunpowder in this line

blood to blood to blood, until we are carried

that they might enter the eternal