do you collect in the soldier’s boots
that lie unclaimed in moonlit war zones
when the blood rusting on battlefields
crumples into twilit shades?

do you overflow in kitchen vessels
and spread out, so that you can fill in
the dent that seemed to have formed last night
when the vessel was hurled
against the wall, squashing the quivering shapes
of sob after sob?

do you bandage the bruises
on slender fingers, that sift through the breeze
and softly touch you –
do you add another layer
to the layers they already bear?

do you dot the golden sequins –
that stud the glowing tassels
on the soft borders of a wedding veil
a wedding veil, that was squeezed
out of all the memories that had slowly gathered
washed, bathed, and put out to dry
and suddenly forgotten about

do you numb the earth’s aching breast
the anaesthesia of nature
seeping into the scars
on her trembling skin?

do you pour onto the looking glass –
and manipulate the subtle, truthful gaze
with the colors of the skies that weigh down
the delicacy of your being?

do you slither into family albums –
and tarry a while, before mother’s photos
struggling to disentangle moments of joy
pushed into the confinements of plastic

you leave your footprints upon her cheeks
cheeks, that bloomed with the cherry blossoms
of teenage-girl-youth

making it seem as though she was crying
in the few times
when she wasn’t