Parading

My toes are dictionaries.

The great story weaves closer and closer, millions of

I said I will love you more

If I were the moon I would shrink into a sand grain

ten thousand murex shells to make

but falling into a liquid mirror

So instead of getting to Heaven, at last —

All weeds. I see it from the train, citybound, how the yuccas and chicory

Let us be unashamed of soul,

that runs along the lines, bright