if we close one eye each

it’s as though everything
that came before
was a series of glass charms
strung on the thinnest of chains

we weren’t surprised by
the broken tintinnabulation
when whimsy took on
tones of fright before
crashing down on us
the way we knew it would

now we kneel
and we gather
and we sift and we sort
through these tesserae
softened by years
(their edges can’t cut us)
and we bind them together

and if we close one eye each
we see a masterpiece,
not a minefield

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