Sketches

As I draw sketches of green bough
under your eyelids,
beyond the slit windows of the room
flowers explode in the sky --
on opposite sides of the bed
a day halved
by light rays forming scissors.

Also, with these hands I smear
colours -- mauve, scarlet, pink
brimming with shades to wash
my eyes in the evening
these hands know when the words
come out of a deep narrow fjord
and bleed for a long time.