Sherds
These bits of self, scatter across the years,
splintered in gray sands of crushed citadels,
anchored ‘neath waters twixt the Dardanelles,
these fragments of shields and old broken spears,
angled pieces in a world full of spheres,
unrequited prayers time tossed in dry wells,
these bits of self.
Found across memories seen through her tears,
gathered together like pearlescent shells,
spared by her love from a thousand lost hells,
pithoi of sherds her devotion now rears,
these bits of self.
Written as a Rondine.
