Parading

sunlight bent. I felt the ceiling arch, and

Who wouldn’t immanentize the eschaton, if they could,

During nights of big moons try walking as slow as a skunk.

I was pirouette and flourish,

The thoughts watch themselves

Oh taste how sweet and tart

The flames consume all but

All things are matter, yet these seem

In your dream

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,