there are 350 blues in the Mountain Bluebird
beating rhythm of blue beating crest
of feather beating skin
rainbow beam of blue, not sky blue
not the second when sky first came into view
the baby arrived blue and wide
this is not the age for awe he says but soon
soon: the tight fist before Amaryllis blossom
soon: photo of her fist in mine
this body maun sune be dust
capture it in gelatin
[there are 176 photographs of my dead sister on display
in the house—the presence of crumbled bones
my father made the film
and called it skin]
sunner suiner soon a definite past and future
schunar in which the time reckoned is indefinite
and the limitlessness of blue
beating rhythm of blue beating
rainbow beam of blue
we could read it her arrival
we could read it blue and wide
an entrance, a song of single come
but this is not the age for awe he says
