I felt them slip from a grip I'd assumed strong
enough; the drop was over before I lowered my eyes,
catching only the impact, the crystalline explosion;
stratified in a single crack, fragmented, they spilled
then stilled themselves on unrelenting asphalt, but for
the discs which wheeled around the wreckage
like coins. I watch their circumscribing motion
circumspectly, til, with a dull clatter, they too
rest. On one knee, I pile layers together in one stack
and stand.
The jagged fragments I kick away skittering
to be crushed under tires or brushed down storm drains
or blown to the gutters with dried grass clippings and other
scraps. My load is handled with more care, carried
upstairs, to my desk, beside my keyboard, where I reassemble
as best I can without the missing pieces.
