The Statue

Something has slowly broken me off.

My tears of sand are met at last by a steady rain and carried down around my feet.

Grain by grain I am severed

from this platform of inertia. I pitch forward into the fresh, green blades from which all my life I have averted my gaze.

Now, I stumble among them crumbling blissfully into each new step. My arms reach out ahead of me in pieces that fly through the air and my face,

once smooth and impassive among the soft blooms that brushed my cheek on their stretch toward the sun,

chips and cracks into one hundred smiles as I spread like gravel along the garden path.