Parading

isn’t there some oscillating connection between a cycle and a trajectory?

All those I remembered passed through my hands like clouds—

In the end,

I don’t think about you

The truth has many forms which are not its form

Ah, Love, there is no fleeing from thy might,

Is it a sin to take the moon? On a night like this?

How you can blow up

clockwork

Everything beautiful lay both forwards and backwards.