Parading

Nothing much we can do about it so we live

cells until they became miniature

We are all trying to change

We have to use a spell to make them balance:

is made of salt and noise and dew. Every poem is Eden and every poet

The planets turn. The trees are bare.

I had some guests. I invited them

an exodus fathoming air

Ah, you bonus illumination in this vast multiplying apart.

Earth you know is round but seems flat.