Parading

In truth each day is a universe in which

Her heartbeat is a metaphor, a late

One day, chasing my tail here and there,

its own blinding light that we wait for in a poem,

the universe

Till her calm grey eye

Skin feathered over bone

to stand each is up against emptiness

You see how it works. In this my garden aspires

Mule-bray, pig-grunt and bawdy cackles