Orient

This is the country where broken things heal. Here
a bottle smashed on the sand gathers itself
together, fuses, melds: leaving smooth scars
where the light snags, ridges of brightness,
but whole again and stronger than it was.

Here in the dark the stars pulse,
and at dawn the spent moon
pulls lavender blankets over blue sheets,
and lays her head on my shoulder, while
the race of both our hearts fades into sleep.