Parading

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

We’ve been fooled into thousands of dualisms

O world! I’ve loved you ever since

thinking it, wrongly, / a thing attainable, any real end