Still Life with Vase and Music
Four red boats clack against each other softly, lashed to the dock.
A vase is meant to hold, not to unravel.
Each tow-rope is a thread. Each thread is a chance to weave.
The vase gives form to emptiness, as music does to silence.
At the poet’s tomb in Kashmir supplicants tie green threads
around the bars to achieve the fulfillment of their prayers.
I do not want to return home without that which I came for.
The poet was herebut he’s gone nowyou’ve missed him.”
The river turns three times on the journey home.
I tie the thread around my own wrist bone.