On the faucet’s lip
the drop
gathers to a sun
and explodes
shatters the whole window
augments breaking day
The rasp of his blood is still in her ears
Sharp crumbs scratch her breath
Words thin on her lips
to say
she must know
if the glass shivered to a ghost
before her hand
crossed his face
before her face stood in his
For now
he is
one wing
split image of an invisible second
that may never have been
She follows
hoping to know
to find him if not whole then
flown together
fused in divorce
that will leave her able
to thrust against live air
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