It doesn’t matter why it fell.
A careless nudge,
A fit of rage,
Tired wet hands giving way,
Did it feel free as it dove to the ground?
The snap tearing through the air is unmistakable.
A thing that was one, is now many,
And somehow less.
Why does it feel more broken when all the pieces are gathered together?
“Don’t worry, we can fix it”.
Words to calm a panicked fright.
“Don’t come over here”.
Invisible fragments wait ready to draw blood,
One last reminder of the thing that was.
No matter how careful,
You can never make it look like it had never fallen,
Fill the cracks with gold,
Make the fall a part of its beauty.
It always was part of its beauty.
What is that tiny buffalo? 