when a dream ruptures,
and sparks fly from our bones,
does the dust of collapse breathe a life of its own?

as my limbs are flailing
and my organs are failing
does something else feel less alone?

do the depths of the night
take breath and respite
knowing lost love will be someday sewn?

when the dew in the dawn
glistens red in the sun
do you think it really knows?