Parading

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,

She crosses a bridge and then sets it on fire

New Ending.

we study partial folds in them alpine jukes,

26. Plants do not actually sleep.