Patrick Kanouse

Memory of Hyacinths
in memoriam Francis Crick, d. July 28, 2004

1
Gone to where your discovery cannot -
Never did – explain. That fine morning when,
In the mind, the entire structure emerged:
A billion years at once simple and clear,
Like how you can only really see
A leaf when a certain light shines over it.
Even then imperfect and brief, but whole.

2
Humid July dusk; sweat cripples my sight.
Blinking, I watched the comet explode,
Felt the withered, harrowed bone of doom.
No prayer for hope. Just the memory of hyacinths
Rising through the lattice of meteors
And the cracking of the sun on the sea.

3
The clack of the train as she leaps from the car
Into her beautiful moment, into her:
Gown billowing, hands to the sun,
White train the echo of her leap,
The prophecy of memory.
Lilies sway back from the train’s rush,
As if accepting her unanswered will.
She gives herself to the idea of love.

4
The prayers we carry
In our hands do not quench
Our thirst in the noon’s heat
The blessings we whisper
Do not quiet our desires.
We commit to each other
Not because we are strong
But because we are weak.

Author Bio

Patrick Kanouse is a managing editor for Pearson Education, a publisher in Indianapolis. His poetry has appeared in the Connecticut Review, The Evansville Review and Smartish Pace.