Parading

its own blinding light that we wait for in a poem,

the universe

Till her calm grey eye

Skin feathered over bone

to stand each is up against emptiness

You see how it works. In this my garden aspires

Mule-bray, pig-grunt and bawdy cackles

Take all of nature, its one vast aggregate —

Consider the allergen poems lush with honeysuckle and/or hyacinth

He’s pointing to the sky