I could take a staple gun

I could take a staple gun

Hold the frayed ends together

Close enough to touch

The soul

Perhaps there are easier ways

To nurture the broken,

Fine china cups are never the same

After a fall

Glueing every single piece

Back into place

Until the joints are barely visible

Spidering over the glaze

Like capillaries

Carrying the essence

Of cup

But never quite the same cup

From rim to handle

Top to bottom

Holding their own

Long enough to drink

Leaving a ring beneath them

A stain on the tablecloth

Perfectly formed

In the shape of an apple

Minus its stalk

Good for everyday use

But never for best

Spilling red wine

On an oakwood floor

Is foolhardy

Some mistakes are ingrained

Hearts stains are indelible

Capillaries bleed through invisible mending

Rupture sutures

Tied with string

Sigh with longing

For the completion

Of recovery

With each irregular beat

Settling for an easing

Of expectation

When the time comes

For the moment

Of surrender

The glue comes undone.