Dawn’s brittle bubble cracks its

crazed crystal chipping into my dream

turning past the coming day

deep bone tired I crave to dip,

diving, dunking back into the cradle of drowsiness

to drift peaceful but

plummeting backwards I wake shattered

turning treading in my bed of coarse frit

I lurch and re-knit ready to

grit through another day of personal kintsugi

another day of glittery lacquer barely

piecing together the brittle of my addled-pated choices

I plow on broken, damaged, beautifully scarred