Parading

Between trees, a slender woman lifts up the lovely shadow

beware of dryness of heart love the morning spring

swallow chattering

that knew it as the present while I thought

To the dim light and the large circle of shade

The heart of a scorpion is swidden

rock-tight, then loosening like scarves the wind takes

Just as I ought. My vision, becoming pure,

I nodded, slept—and without my watching, the world,

the sting of  joy, a lilt of crimson,