Parading

this is freedom. This is the force of faith. Nobody gets

wavering forest of bluegreen leaves

it’s like a great colorful

then one of the cats quickly turns its face

Buskins of shells, all silver’d, used she,

strung from a thought arrived through the keyhole grasping

With a dog paddling behind me,

when the French say ruelle

Does he hum them to while away sad afternoons