Parading

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.

If one could get hold of all-of-the-whole-of-you,

Then it would begin to seem unintelligible,

I wrote the past in characters