Alabaster light.

first

she was not part of the perfect shell for long
she, separated form from being,
shone in the low light like the nostalgia of a porcelain sink
and still no one said a word. No one said
you did this. just look at what you did.
they worked like they do this every day,
like they do not wear crowns of cold gold
and serve divinity, like they do not
turn the cogs of a functioning miracle.

she said look, look, into the lights
and I brought her to my shoulder and saw --
that I did not know anything,
how to be or stay or where I had been
or where I was going

disoriented, she and I felt
how we were culled and cleaved
and brought back together

she slept and my chest split,
and alabaster light spilled out -- mine, mine, I murmured --
but it was not mine anymore.