I am looking
through a door frame,
beyond it, into another room,
at a table
and a single lily in a vase.
There are no fixtures and fittings
and no electricity,
only sunlight or moonlight.
The table is made of elm
and the lily is made of itself.
I change the water daily.
As nothing dirties it,
the room does not need cleaning
and I leave my shoes at the entrance.
The lily stamens shed their pollen.
I leave the door to the room
open –
you know what I am going to say:
the vase is broken,
the water spilled
and the lily spoiled –
only the table remains.
I spread myself on it,
my heartbreak for the vase
and everything else.
I am comforted by its solidity
as once again
it supports a vase,
water,
a single lily
shedding its dust.


(First published in the Aurorean, Spring/Summer 2018.)