Parading

I sing the beauty of bodily touch

about the size of a honeybee. We stared at

I like my poems. They’re

Pale moth, that from the moon doth fly,

the hoop of the world is breaking.

There is a country to cross you will

Those you love come at you like lightning,

as if they know the yellow answer:

With your silhouette when the sunlight dims

The scent of her beauty draws me to her place.