Parading

Here is a flower

Poor summer, it doesn’t know it’s dying.

Archer, I am my errors. Arching, I erred

We’ve been told space

I am not a window.

There is rain. There is this day. There is

I wanted to be air, or wind — to be at ease

Many times, I have called for the rain

Forget the afterlife, the aftertown:

First forget what time it is