next to Grace and Sin

some things fall into place
and others tumble out
just like the glass frame
of this photo once hung
against brownstone walls

it had met the ground
with a resolve
a force
that can only have been
– and desperate for liberation
a choked off sob
or a slamming of a door
followed by one’s crumbling
against it

and then the air
simmers with static
until you push yourself
off that ground
force yourself to clean up
collecting up the shattered

the task at hand
leaves its imprint
just the purples bruise
on the knuckles
or maybe
diamond cut
splinters of glas collecting
along the dents of your fingerprints

but you stand up
at some point
pieces in arms
then the bin

and you see that
spot on the wall
a void – you think
until it’s just
a memory