Hécuba

The widow drinks from the cypress
and it's on the edge of the foam,
in the dark celestial tide
the star that gets ready

Dull lampshade of annoyances,
out of tune light flaws,
a clock with broken
runaway hands.

A grocery bag
nervous with unmatched wings:
just one plate for dinner,

August water cut off,
the top of the panting stairs
and a book out of the shelf