Parading

Goodbye, Winter,

Somewhere there’s a goat that squirts

The paradise of Autumn light

A few books shining like the wood of trees.

It’s hard / to understand / but time apparently

And how is one to / read a nod? Is a nod an exclamation?

When the sky is blue as Minerva’s eyes

the first smile of any saint, a promise toward the perfection

When the eyes of me flash their lightning on you,