It’s not your birthday or the day you left this earth but somehow the way the sky is holding back the sun it makes me think of you.
A fisherman’s net of clouds a fisherman’s net of tears heavy and weary, they burst, rain bruising the floating flowers that decorate this darkened lake like the flowers you used to make from sugar paste for wedding cakes cascading down the side.
I see you in your dining room rolling out the crystal colors sunlight through lace curtains turns sugar into diamonds makes a halo of your golden hair.
Cherubs see from pink walls all those colors at your fingertips the world at your fingertips.
Quick and clever hands our grandmother’s hands clutching and grasping just trying to climb out from the tethering net out from the deep cold water.
Hands can reach and flowers can float for a while.
So lovely and wild the flowers did float for a while perfect for you earth child.
Some things should be shared...art is one of them.