Feathers dance in a plume of smoke
and fall like snow
they speckle my hair and bedsheets

Broken is as broken does
a conscience torn like fabric that holds
down that goes up into clouds

I’ll mend it again and sew up the hole
cover myself in what once was
held together by stitches

With the pieces in place
again I find warmth
drifting off into an eluding slumber