Patchwork

Nocturne No. 6

Our love was like a mirror cracked
Such that each fragmented face
Met in the other a missing piece
And called the patchwork whole, intact

The kind of love you’d never find
By window shopping in the sun
Where you and what you think you want
Are superimposed—not unified

Our love’s necessities were buried
The bottom of a delphic pond—
Where even the most unstable bond
Was silvered shut by February