Parading

We are Starseeds

I promise you nothing … I accept your promise … of the

It is possible to be with someone

The grass grows between the enemy of my enemy’s clenched fists, but she still won’t move.

an orange memory

Living is no laughing matter:

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,

In a former existence I must have been a painter

Give thanks to the plain sweetness of a day

you suddenly see how we are in it—