over the mountains
into the sea. Some men
are broken in quarters
and halves. I’m smashed

like a bat swung
to glass. Shattered to
smithereens. My pieces
are pasted in ***** men's

dreams. The little fragments
reflect light if I hold them
at an angle just right. Some
take off like fireflies, shining

in the night sky. All this dross
like dust in the air made it
by seeds I planted with flare. Every
piece broken off grew from the loss

into a garden bed. Flowered
from the toss and rooted with
spares.