Parading

I begin to imagine the chances against

Red scarves silking endlessly

And I had no more Eyes

Which is the sound of the land

take this, hurry.

White snow. A winter landscape, & the hush when I come back to it as bitter & serene

I wish for higher meaning and its histrionics to cease.

And I looked at my companion, and I said Where are we?

The known universe

want to describe myself like a picture I observed