This is still life–
Petals caught between the sun’s tawny fingers,
Sway in the lull of the day’s repose.
The vase climbs assiduously;
Supple curves, winding tirelessly in an infinite loop,
Which rotate into nothing,
But twirls nonetheless.
Where does this container take us?
From all sides–glowing and light subtracted–
The contents burst forth in a flourished transit to the quiet unknown
Singing the great song of the here and hereafter,
To exist in the world without shadows–
Always climbing, still spinning.