Parading

to love life, to love it even

But the world

Guardian angels, wherever you’re hiding,

I want to be an orange ball of music.

What I get, I bring home to you:

Even if I don’t see it again—nor ever feel it

Bless each thing on earth until it sickens,

I’ll walk where my own nature would be leading:

We add to ourselves or detract whenever we speak.

There is, said Pythagoras, a sound