We lay there –
A thousand pieces of shattered porcelain,
Spread across the black floor, frigid to the touch
Each of us our own cosmos,
Unaware of all the kin that lay around us.

The old man
With the belt of rustling keys
Swept us all into the same waste bin,
And we awoke to the sounds of our shards clattering in unison.

That night, we warmed our cold, jagged edges,
And in the dark,
Our molten glaze joined together along our corners
And we became whole again

Filled with new life, we rejoiced
Until spitefulness came along once more,
And crumbled our bonds into dust,
And made us forget
That we are one, godammnit –
Different shards of the same vase.