Breaking apart

My mirror has broken.

It did not make any sound, as it fell on the

grass.

My head hung, I could see the broken sky with muddy borders in the

grassy background.

There are mirrors now; they are mirrors, on the ground.

Broken memories smashed onto the field where I stood, without bending.

The first drop of rain fell on the

glass.

The numb drops came softer and light.

The parts of my moist mirror were caught into the soggy field that made no sound.

There are mirrors now; they are mirrors, on the ground.

Came the wind as I stood still in the pin drop game.

The sun tresspassed and washed me dry, now

nothing bent and nothing hung – the parts no more mine, that lay on the

grass.