Keeping Time with Blue Hyacinths: Poems

Quasars

Quasars A beautiful woman giving birth to a child. You can’t divorce the sky because love is blue. Or maybe we have it backwards. It is the air who flutters through birds, the body that pounds in the heart. Didn’t your grandmother’s small courtyard swing wide to a wooden blue door, her guests seated and served to thimbles of steaming sweetened tea? She says nothing, but opens her lips. Everything is about away. The trees past a train, train blurring houses, the river away from its bed, a horizon to horizon sun. Clocks keep dignity, not time. Journey is a rocky path with many doors. I am a custodian of memory, the murderer of saplings. I leak from my skin. 54 ...