Strong words from a lily
as between languid drags
she blows smoke rings
in quick trio that hover,
liquid but holding and break alas
on the silky undercup of the tall flower.
Over and again as if to say
repetition is the thread of desperation
and death is the needle that hauls it.
Instigating her suitors into mayhem,
she lays blame with a placid pointing finger
when success slops its surplus
of gore across the courtyard.
Phoenix, firebird, budgy.
Some of these tapestried birds
are well-remembered, their cousins
mere make believe.
Red robin, wet with linseed.
In a little while she will unpack
what she had packed the night before.
13 kilos of books,
7 bottles of pupil-dilating Valpolicella,
a duffel bag of unsorted laundry,
and a singing cat.