Parading

Milk blue from its moon, the sky

just as the greatest turmoil has precision.

Even our fear is in vain, and our doubt

soon, the night buds will unfold.

I am on a float trip in the Buddha’s mind.

no more of your springtimes are needed

the magical half-tab / you’re waiting to take. Rimbaud to Verlaine,

And beauty came like the setting sun:

What are they called.

My world is hydrogen burning in space and in the