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
                       sped countless-fold:

                       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.