It is possible to be loved while in a thousand pieces.

Shattered glass pieced together in a mosaic
brought forth as a newer image, different from before.

You can't stand up or move away from the sink,
they rub the small of your back, bring you a glass of water.

Grey days stretched to grey nights to grey weeks,
only this faint grey light holding back the dark.

My dandelion-yellow heart, you are not so far gone
that your spectral graces remain unseen.

If you truly love a flower, you don't pluck it from the dirt
that it may wish to leave.

It is possible to be loved in a thousand pieces.

h.f.m.