The night knows all my secrets.
Sometime plucked from between imaginary stars
during that night which just passed
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.
I want to find tiny bits,
tiny pieces, in characters
and phrases between pages
upon pages in thousands of books
until I'm whole-
again?
Just keep reading.
One day all the nights will have my story to tell.
