Give me yourself in fragments
like I imagine hiccups would
if they could love and talk sweetly.
circa incomplete things,
and the grass too far from the sprinkler.
Give me yourself in broken bits.
Fragment as in okay.
As in clouds broken off from the source—
venturing off to burst on their own.
Thunderbird and soaked wing,
people that say “or else.”
I’d rather be sprinkled with whispers:
write me love-notes filled with all your best scraps.