The beach recognized for
the crash
which piled into its
solace
The solace rooted in hiss
and tongues
The beach imagined of
windows
where horsemen hail each
other
I the drapery
flowing among blue walls
the drapery imagined of
windows
where acrobats are
brought to stand
Aren't I in it this time
The beach swells becore
another drapery
brings its roots
Yes, that's how it's
recognized
Haven't the feet washed
in
stretching the eyes under
the grass
When do I lean into
'drapery'
because someone expired
here
All of them are washing
into the nebula
All of them are needing
to stand
Paul
Baumann
