Something is Broken

It is not bone.
Not my heart.
Not a beloved’s body,
not even a stranger’s.

Unfamiliar peace below
as shards tumble
in this latest ocean:
now stormy,
eventually calm,
always and ever moving.

So much collision
becomes sea glass.
It cannot help itself.

All broken things mend:
bones knit,
skin scabs over,
hearts love anew,
or they don’t.

Even shattered glass
finds its way
into mosaic,
different from bottle
but still,

translucent.


(cc) Karen G. Johnston