Parading

What we see, we see

Think of all the poetry

What name is there for the color that arouses

But it is shrouded, veiled: We must have made some ghastly error.

It hangs from heaven to earth.

sinewy ghost of ash and air, going

The word remember touches my hand,

And spirited from sleep, the astounded soul

The balls rise like planets

O moon, o singing fountain,