An orange flare
lights the pale panes of the hospital
in a final wish of daylight.
It's not yet dark.
In the chiildren's ward
under a mother's face
the dead, always so young.
Water startles in the river's throat.
a plea to share in its curse?
Somewhere, this twilight shall fall
and hide the whiteness of jasmines about to bloom.
in the houses across the street
make me look out at the wet August evening
that holds up the vast unknown
in such small delicate hands.