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.


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