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Vases, Apples, and Fire
I am no more to you, than
the teal vase on the shelf, delicate
that you dropped onto hardwood
when you were bored
and got tiresome
and restless
of keeping it safe.
I am no more, than the wax apples with painted pallor,
Only for display
Unsweet when bitten
Or fireplace, alluring without flame
or assistance of log.
“Look, look at my vase,
at my untainted apples
that do not bruise
that do not wither
my fire that
glows in orange midst, does not flicker.
it is for display. It is all for display”
Well I will sit in a chair,
letting the glow of the sunbeams push within
fog or mist or that sort
pour into the reflection
color on my lips
I am just your vase,
your apples, your fire;
But oh,
Oh, how it is yours
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