a million other worlds

there is nothing waiting
for me at the end of
the garden

Robin

        your eyes were bits of
        colored broken glass
        sparking easily under
        another's earth sun

as birds feared the
call of gravity

       the rosey wetness of
       early evening delivered
       a letter of hope and love

but somewhere along
the thorns and thickets
of Shakespeare

      it fell from my pocket
      without a parachute

and was trampled underfoot
by a million words of
nonsense

     a million other worlds
     of sad and broken
     glass
     eyes