Amsterdam

Again boats pass by my window. I can almost touch 
them with my fingertips, they sail safely from century
to century straight for the harbor. A high voice
narrates a genesis in three languages, this and only like 
this is how it went down with the spices and the slaves,
the women were ready under their velvet dresses 
and the men were hoisting love all the way up.
They crammed their lofts full with profit and grain.
My fingers touch the daily things and
smooth them out, they caress the past: faded views, 
self portrets in clair-obscure, memories-
Horses that galloped but are now waiting in stables
for the end, of winter, until grass grows again from
the hardened soil, gets heavy, cuts. Motionless
heron. Bird that catches fish. Woman who walks with fire
in her hands until it extinguishes but revives it with words. 
A lake where a late light glares over.
Until it fades. Until it wears away.