NAVEL TO KNEE Today brings a blue hour, but the jasmine has been dead for weeks. This rare fistful of minutes says give me a moment alone, says what happens now is private. The windowpane is touched by what can’t fairly be called light anymore, and what’s still alive—flax lily, climbing fig, the toothed leaves of hydrangea— bears witness. I pull up my shirt and look for signs that I’ve changed, for skin that veils itself in color now, not cloth. I’m bound by the mechanics of my eyes, drawn as they are to spectacles of light or its departure. Here is an unusual hour in my one ordained life, a nest of growth that will stop growing, an intimate moment under shade loved only because it ends. The passing hour says turn away, and deepens. The sky changes and I watch. (Sarah Ghazal Ali)
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A pregnant moment bursting with simple complexities found in lines of words vivid and sublime. Yes, I would say this is a living poem thriving to undermine our sensibilities. Stop and look at words and phrases. So many of them. Meditations all. Thank you, Robin, for sharing this poem written by Sarah Ghazal Ali.