The Hours

 (For Joana)

 

There are young hearts that don’t resist.
Eyes wide open to come-what-may, a sprightly
blue vestige of a world before the end
of innocence. But there is so much more,
so much that doesn´t fit into closets or
schema, so much to spring the coils, or burst
even the most carefully sewn garments -
    the ones made painstakingly, one hand stitch at a time-
at the seams. There are boats that navigate
past the end of a flat horizon.
And some of the kindred who depart too early
just so the rest, the ones who are left
here holding down the fort, can remember
what keeps us