Musings #23
DREAMING OF OBLIVION
The vase brimming
with day-lilies, the last
of the lupine and purple campanella
cut from our tended garden,
stands
on the table beside the bed
she cannot rise from.
All there is for her now
– enough.
Though the others keep,
the lilies bloom only
for their day and ever so
silently, gently close
like lids folding over
to cover iris and black pupil
and do not reopen.