No nursery rhyme reason
to explain a kingdom lost,
no debate on which came first,
can mend what’s been undone.
Your forgiveness, my forgiveness,
were both inconsequential.
Memory’s clutter cascades
upon itself, like storage bins
falling from a shelf.
So much’s become disordered
and broken, one fragment
scattered next to another.
The remnants, like eggshells,
offer no augury toward love.
(March 5, 2017)
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