Parading

All I have is a voice

With the certainty of tides,

As late as yesterday Nature celebrated their birth,

of a sky incessantly paling my grain of sky

the great poet struggles with a dumpling.

don’t say “in these dark days”

And I see that my own hands can make

And that wilderness from which I hear a faraway echo is my body, is it not?

time. “Are they real?” she asks me, and I watch her reckon the distance

Time always matters, as the woman said, yesterday I am …