Pieces, Senses

Each one has a name.
One has yours.
Each has a bouquet of scents,
color flower faces bursting, as my foot crushes
upon an unexpected memory.
Each has a taste,
and a million images.
The sound of a shutter clicking
behind my eyelids
in time with my resolute heartbeat.

Innocently, I carried them like boulders on my back,
proud of their weight,
until they crushed all the vessels in my lungs, so.
Now I carry them as lightly as a butterfly wing
in my heart pockets, like diamonds.

Their edges sharply cut me still,
but their brilliant shine lights my day
and warms my nights alone.
One day maybe I’ll sling them into the heavens
and make some new stars,
instead of just sitting under them,
and wishing on the ones that fall.