Day 1,384

As she gathers lilies for a wicker basket
hitched to a bicycle she used

to associate with him, pebbles fall
at her feet. Comfort comes in dreams

of a familiar burden.
These small memory pieces become worry

stones she rubs to release herself
from a desire to live beneath

that boulder again. Grace comes
awkwardly to the shore.

What Color Herring

She can drop the music
on ice—it won’t 

break apart
the way she hopes her worry
stone strokes might. Cracks 

visible on a surface
take time to register inside 

her. Continuity
isn’t hers to give away.