Sunday, April 14, 2013


Shards of glass
shattered long ago
Lie upon my floor
Most swept-up
...all but the smallest
Yet a daily
stray cuts me
And again I bleed

and yet, not to discard
I pick them up, the shards
and though not a cup they make
piece them together,
time's glue holding
and the sun shining through a window next
refracts and throws a rainbow.

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