Parading

It is a good day when I see you,

lying on this bed while she wanders in

you don’t know where life takes you. It’s the way the pounding

There’s never any ash, anything to sift through.

Yes, your passion, yes, the time of a flower.

I was born too much

The past is so far away, but it flickers,

Heart has / a thousand weathers but is always

And all this beneath a sky by nature skyless

The poem never leaves you,