The Vase

I hear

the birds argue and laugh

little choruses of happiness

grown thoughts of pain.

The sun visits often

tells of worlds it’s seen

of a canvas greater than any window.

I catch the moon peeping

littering my dark with it’s light

wondering if I sleep

How could I?

My stems of colour circle

wishful shadows and crying thoughts

I guard them

I dance in my stillness

My peace isn’t disrupted by movement

Something both Sun and Moon

Ache for.