She Will Meet Them in the Sand and the Frowning Parade

sagacity warrant for the great mislabeled sparrow

She turns Her head towards the frowning parade
that is like a gas light in perpetual applause
treble enclosure for Her forever sea

Her Hand, lent to the docile, given to me
I will not forget Her promise of direct action
towards the waves of sand-driven tyrants She goes out to meet

She stands in privacy
She stands among the crowded journeys
She will arrive when we are subject to the sandy waves
when we expect only travel and forced abdication of our shortsighted thrones