I found my name in a broken spoon Tiny moon, bent by the sink It did not shine It remembered The chair by the door Keeps my outline Like an old witness Who never learned my face I asked the rain for a verdict It answered in puddles And every puddle said Keep moving So I wore my questions Like wet sleeves Soaked heavy But mine And the floorboards Kept their secrets With the patience Of roots Let the glass touch my tongue Let the small truth cut clean I was not built from fire I was built from what remains Let the glass touch my tongue I can taste the shape of change What breaks in the hand May open in the mouth A moth hit the lamp And called it a door For one bright second It was right The apple in the bowl Turned soft as a confession No one wants to be perfect Only eaten on time Even the cracked clock Still gives the hour As if time were a favor And not a theft So I learned to bow To the unfinished To the bent nail To the almost Because every life Is a room under repair And every repair Leaks light Let the glass touch my tongue Let the small truth cut clean I was not built from fire I was built from what remains Let the glass touch my tongue I can taste the shape of change What breaks in the hand May open in the mouth When I die Let it be gradual Like dusk leaving a window One finger at a time Let the dust keep my shape Until it forgets me Then remembers Something kinder Let the glass touch my tongue Let the small truth cut clean I was not built from fire I was built from what remains Let the glass touch my tongue I can taste the shape of change What breaks in the hand May open in the mouth
