Sunday, March 27, 2022

broken shards

The broken shards,

irregular and clear, 

twinkle the crisp, spring light. 

And bright, it's near. It's dear, 

on the dug earth 

where a sidewalk's hug gave birth 

to an hourglass. They laugh, 

they watch 

their neighbors, scrambling weeds, 

the ungainly, tight buds, catch 

at it, the light. And when  

they reach up into it, 

and to the air, from where sand,  

a lifetime of ago's ,

might have spilled, their thoughts run 

back to the shards, 

and the reflected sun.

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