Parading

I can’t help looking at the clock:

in secret one thing / to perceive, the / tall blue starry

I am not writing a history of these times or of past times or of any future

we long / for a better world, we seek to deliver

And I, on the roof’s edge,

if you hear

Shake your head.

Look at us, she said. We are all of us in this room

Cymbals are played.

and the owl says it is summer