Parading

The Moon likes to kiss in the boring bits and refuses

without detail, the myth, the archetype, the soul

Then the moon will rise

that’s all there is. Que sera sera. What can you do

We know ourselves only

They say you are made of clouds, they say you

words have no main switch. But all those little

in the human heart, meanings like sailboats / setting out

my mind, in its ascent,

The thing that lasts is noticing