It was a night filled with shattered glasses.
You threw open these drawers
and poured out their contents:
you held out mirrors from
compartments I fashioned with
these broken hands and heart and
eyes that saw past what is there.
What has always been there
never really fit anywhere.
I tried to store them somewhere but I couldn’t.
Beauty, like Pain, cannot be contained for long.
I looked at these scattered pieces like I was witnessing
of petals in slow-motion
poppies - goldenrod and red - springing forth like wildfire:
There's a first.
My love, you see,
you are already in bloom
where I am being re-born.