Broken Pieces

as i walk through this field of candy wildflowers
where once you laid your head,
i gather, but not in the tradition
of storybook religion
but rather, in the style of the gypsy

i scoop! grab! plunder!
six to a pocket, five to a head band
three behind my ear
while pieces of petal, broken wings
and splashes of pollen
jitterbug the bee's drunken tango

and this, all this-i carry
like a wren planning for twelve
running jag-legged and jester crazy
to high on a hillside
where the tallest tree
fans my withered remembrance

and it is from here, high on this crack jangle limb
i lift my tethered heart to a father wind
casting my broken pieces to random hope
before shaking myself innocent
of such petty larceny

then raising my eyes in a soft drawn curtain
i loll my head and laugh
that in this, i am still yet a child
holding to a tangled hope, that
just once, you'll pass by, notice these broken pieces
-smile
and know