The first thousand pieces were of a younger me
and shone like dappled light through forest trees
they spun neither slow nor angrily
and reflected at me my family.
They were the pieces I understood least
They were the pieces that tore at my peace.
The next thousand pieces were shorn for the war,
and sparkled with light from each foreign shore
each spun in hunger, with craving for more
and reflected at me all I abhor.
They the pieces that reflected my shame
They the shards of the catalyst of change.
The third thousand pieces broke off in song
their shine fought the dark with brightness so strong
They spun in musics, their notes peeling long
and reflected at me my lost folk-songs
They were the pieces that covered the path
They were the pieces that cut up my feet.
The fourth thousand pieces tore off in love
Just floated away like a dule of doves
they spun languidly like liquid on stone
and reflected at me my first true home
They were the pieces that structured my heart
They are the fragments that light my soul still.
The last thousand pieces are only mine
to smash on the ground, to hide or consign,
wear on my arms like a bevy of knives
They'll reflect at me my self-stolen life.
They'll be the pieces I understand least
They'll be the pieces I love most.
