Highest clarity, glinting in fast fading nectar light.
on the precipice, threatening to slip.
transparent but blurring, bending, obscuring
the beauty of the cliff just beyond them.
Crystal, but so fragile.
a worthless surplus.
I collect them anyway
and they break,
I let them.
fall haphazardly onto dirt between my knees.
onto hands twisted erratically into oversized jeans
I let them fall into the wind and over the edge and through
oblivion.
Exhausting the ragweed's sympathy.
Just a silly little girl
crying her silly little grief
to the earth.
YOU ARE READING
Black Box
PoesieOriginal poems, much like a plane's black box, documenting the moments leading up to an explosive disaster.
