The night knows all my secrets.
Sometime plucked out from in-between
illusory stars where there were no dreams
during that night just past,
I misplaced myself-
again.
This morning I find fragments
scattered about-
don't remember
anything breaking-
kitchen counter, bathroom tiles,
stairs, crumples on the carpet.
Never in one piece.
All I would want is to find tiny bits,
tiny pieces, in characters
and in phrases imprinted
upon the pages upon pages
of a thousand books
until I'm whole-
again?
Just keep reading.
One day all the nights will have my story to tell.