Glass House

[nachtegalen]

Sometimes I feel as though I'm stomping on the sky
Believing, somehow that it will eventually
Break
Just splinter into a thousand tiny pieces
of dusty blue shrapnel to gather into
Myself
Tilling the fragments as with a rake
Leaving no more smooth planes to be shattered
Into
Razored edges that might cut careless hands,
unsuspecting barefeet
Putting everything together in its place
Here
Broken and swept under
Tidy and neat