There are leaves of porcelain
strewn in a corner
of an uncommon garden.
A moth of silk and velvet,
a collection of star fish.
You draw giant flowers
and are delighted to find
a hole in the floor.
It is an evening of soft sunlight,
gin and tonics, linen that
must not be stepped on.

I could be struggling
out of a hospital bed
but for the crushed bone dice
of bureaucracy, so I may as well
enjoy the paintings blossoming
on the walls. The petals
collected to decorate sandcastles.
You clapping your heart out
for the Halloween band.
This gift of sunflower seeds.


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