My flower

Star jasmine, in tangled stems,

Fill an old vase,

Soft and summer sweet, they sit,

By a smudged ward window,

While small hands, frail petals,

Lie still against starched white sheets.

Two fragile flowers fading,

Taking last breaths

That barely stir the sterile air.

In this room, my stars are falling,

Like a bowed bouquet – or a fleeting constellation...

You sleep, and the jasmine floats

In silence to the floor.