They Stand on the Counter
Empty vessels of poetry
The Vase family and their foundling spoon rest
Clustered into a still-life of exquisite fragility,
and of Beauty that quadruples in their congregation
Beauty that reaches into me
like the eyes of refugees.
From their delicacy
and the fullness of their emptiness,
they whisper to what is never homeless,
to my own hidden glory,
no, these Holy emigres–
from Lola’s Kitchen.