of the house across the gardens;
the next-door neighbour’s cut the dead ivy
and the reflected light hits the artificial flowers
and their strong delicate colours, glowing
in their various cobalt vases; blooming joyful
where living flowers find that corner sad;
the flowers as if washed today with brighter water-colours;
as if grace itself, wishing to send a message
to this room today, had chosen the spectrum
of the flowers’ purples, yellows, blues and reds
as its medium and message; and its smile;
today, the spectrum is for me
metaphor enough – its rainbow limits
playing now-you-see-me… with the retina,
hinting at the formless always beckoning
there, beyond the form..
metaphor enough
for heaven’s mind itself; and heaven’s smile.