un-fancy

hyacinth

things that germinate and burst through rock,
growing, with red flowers. and how the rock
holds them down. and how they turn faces
to the stars. and how the wind tastes.
and how it is cold. and how the stars are nothing

but bright salts, chemistry in the sky.
and how the night is a sheath
and i walk through it a knife.

and how the knife is a heart.
and how the heart is a beat.

beat beat. how the heart is a beating.

--

gasping in the sun.
the rate at which the sore runs.

the rate at which the rain
tears the hair apart, strand from strand.

these things are sad, very
sad, and i don't know why:
a frame, pictureless. on a driveway.
in detroit. on sale for ten dollars.