I had this summer day
where you were fire and I was sand,
and we melted ourselves
into a rare and perfect glass.
Maybe we can be like marbles,
well-rounded and varied,
or maybe we can magnify
and burn splinters in the pavement.

Today I see the faintest reflection,
smooth but dirty, old and cherished,
like the way that you broke me
and smashed life on the floor.
We've been devitalized;
presently I hold just one sliver.
Maybe we were fragile,
or maybe
we can meld again
and mold our lives inside.