The Hands of Time
at the speed of a lily
and every day a million snowflakes melt
on somebody’s tongue.
The hands of time travel
across my skin
and deliver their holy benediction.
I keep living in this world
without a reference point.
At night I lay my head on my pillow,
my pillow that is filled with feathers,
filled with the ephemera of flying.
When I close my eyes
a hundred birds
sing me to sleep.