A jar of wonders
A cup of trinkets
A dash of splendor,
Shut in a casket…

She was a collector.
Day and night she grasped
At threads of colour
Shades of magic. Apt

To see, prone to marvelling
But never letting go.
A collector I said, and so,
Drunk on having

Possessing, amassing,
Words and flowers. 
Flowers she sapped of fire
Words she emptied of meaning

She imprisoned Beauty,
She scooped up Grace,
Mummified Gaiety,
Made it a necklace.

Her garden a dull cemetery :
Parched flowers, sweet words impaled.
She stilled and killed, swift and airy,
The movement she loved.

Or did she? Words—
Of course by now 
You should know,
Are mighty swords 

Eternally aglow
They live in definitions,
But also sheer volition,
Music and flow.

Like rhythm and air
They break but never fear.
For the true seer 
Will restore their dance, hear their whisper.

K.N.A.

first published on Instagram 🔖06.02.2021