Parading

In these dreams, apples can fall like stars on top of my head,

Name the next time, win

Short words / go up hills with dust.

The poets are waiting in line

Beauty pours in. Open your heart then. And if you find

then I wish I had a tiny desk

sand / churning, all eyes, all breath and green and gill.

since the gold leaves have all

Yes, the night does come and

Ask for understanding; you shall