they took turns singing the sun to sleep as a thank you, it left a painting resting above the sea then, scattered pinpricks of light and they danced until morning a thin place living its title modestly; a home each treasure gathered on its wanderers’ journeys welcomed; infinite space awaits Florence, dear, you can’t keep your secrets from me healing buildings with olive trees roads nestled between ancient stone kumquats in rose gardens you made each worn path new to me; we even put our name on one. in the room there is a chair - the only piece of furniture left.
it is being given away. on the chair is a vase. nobody knows quite how the vase arrived in the family, but it’s like it’s always been there. when the new owners of the chair come and pack it up, the vase is gone. tucked in a bundle of blankets, the vase goes to the family’s new home. the next morning, the vase sits unpacked on a shelf. it looks different; near the rim, one of the painted buds has disappeared, in its place, a flower. |