Hourglass
To Agnieszka Kuk
A real hourglass is a grand dame,
whose dress is woven of patient glass,
a waist as slim as a second,
cinched tight with a sense of loss.
It's forever complaining:
Oh how love ages the body!
How like a solid pebble was my heart
before time came to love me,
and now into a thousand bits it's come apart
and I've a thousand yearnings at once.
To touch some places you don't need hands.
To understand everything you don't need a head.
To say everything you don't need words.
Time is all you need.
Though it's light as
and delicate as
and soft as
a silk handkerchief
to my great dismay
it makes my heart melt away.