Parading

this moment—what is it—just

My imperfect heart which prefers

the amazing desire / that keeps me alive, though the face be still, be still,

And suddenly a few elephants—

It involves a ritual & a speechless messenger,

In the other world, Prince whispers to every dove: cry, cry,

and when I turned to look back I did not recognize a thing

It’s not like we can choose what spears us through the heart.

My sister tells me she is a bird.

It was an alphabet on top