once
you and i
(a chapter, a story)
were carving a path
at night
we rang bold, singing, precious.
like a wine glass
full of blood-red merlot
and held to the firelight--
and once
smashed,
rebel rubble on the blacktop,
glass shards to pick
out of tender feet.
inarticulate
and full of words
i cast out
(a bet, a lifeline)
for purchase.
i am far from pacified.