A careless fling,

with little thought,

perhaps a simple force

of habit,

set into motion,

brought forth

new life.

And the past,

like yesterday’s trash,

would’ve been long forgotten,

if that small piece

didn’t break


from the ceaseless violence

and grinding negation

to wash up on the shore.


And it would’ve been thrown back,

jagged and broken,

if it didn’t get held,

just right,

up to the light.

If it didn’t glow

the pale blue green

of a shimmering ocean.

If it didn’t give

the faintest impression

of the depths


As if it was more,

much more

than a shard.


Text and images by M.P. Baecker © 2017

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