two thousand years in the library books maps
in flames the wind carries leaves away from memory
blood sticks letters and pages in stiff fingers
...
she with tin legs
hourglass in mouth aquarium in her head
he with all the towns' staircases on his back
under his arm a heart that can be wound up or stopped
...
under a blossoming cherry tree he sings about spring
holds the music upside down in angelic hands
the song is seraphically sad a devilishly funny
women and children watch him without malice
...
waves crease
parchment
of world's end palimpsest
...
the sea is leafing through wave after wave
a ripple of sound over stones then foam and nothing
a memory heaping moisture and scent on the shore
...