In the waiting room at the hospital
a young man, with a topknot
and brown lakes
for eyes, comforts, in a front harness
his four week old baby.
And I wonder how we did it, the lady
and I— by living apart?
Letting birds fly? Once a week,
flock, once a week, sky?
Meaning-phoenicians, weeks & strongs;
chopped into pieces… The man speaks English
with a Spanish accent. How close they came—
their Monarchy aflame, their version of Jesus:
Boats in the Water, Magic and Mortar.
The child’s head fits into his palm
which strokes and shields and holds
his ear against the time
-partitioner of his heart.