Poem: This Morning

This Morning

a breaking, a snap at the point of union,
what was one is two
and each of those
is nothing of use,
is a fragment
that cannot be restored.
It broke, do not ask how:
there was no trauma,
nothing dropped or smashed,
it did not shatter apart,
was a gentle cracking,
came away without violent incident,
though that does not matter:
it is still as broken,
will not be mended,
will never work again.

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