mono no aware x late spring

the vase sits in my peripheral,

an opaque mirror 

reflecting back a ceramic stare,

an illusion of stillness

smoothed by the macroscopic lens

under the microscope 

each grain of sand 

and matted mineral

composing the silt

shifts and slides with stealth,

invisible to my blind eye

melancholia moves my mood

down the hips of the vase

where her lover’s hands 

once caressed her clay 

and imprinted the memory of movement

with the first steps of an eternal dance 

father’s snore bubbles up

to the surface of my awareness 

in synch with the shadows 

of bamboo shoots swaying

past the symmetry of the window pane,

and the moment is gone

in the transition 

between transience 

i catch the vase glaring at me

with a timeless wisdom

of what it means to be left behind 

by the hands that shaped you