a city of patina and dross:
old men in blue coats weep in train stations,
            squares of soap, bones of light.

the city touched your skin,
turned it into cerements. I comb your hair

in the opiate dark.
you say you know the hagiography of birds
           but you cannot weaken the glass wool of memory.


once you filled a whale carcass with jasmines petals
but your hand reaching into absence

is still only a hand
                      in the Atacama Desert

where women have sought for decades
for the bones of their loved ones,
                      their bodies breaking into siroccos, into amethysts.


Triin Paja is an Estonian, living in a small village in rural Estonia. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Cyberhex Journal, The Cossack Review, Badlands Literary Journal, Fractal Magazine, and Gloom Cupboard.