vase

by kazim ali from the fortieth day

he wrote to you once, night's cold i,
storm-broken branches,

here in this room on the galaxy's edge.

he wrote to you twice, sun-yellow dusk,
midnight enameled vase,

snow-blue shelf in the sky.

he wrote to you three times,
and the nothing inside flew up,

a listless prisoner, tethered, a spy.