Parading

And then he cocked both his pistols and he spit in the dirt

“You can never —”

Corn Dancers rise in a line, follow my calf,

How good to let imagination go,

Let the mirror explain how beautiful you are!

Not that I understand things.

and our breaths on their course of puffs—they kept

Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely.

I know I am solid and sound,

an ear’s for breathing