sea glass;

my heart is of broken bottles and shipwrecks,

sharp and jagged,

never to be pieced together again, at least,

not without flaw.

the waves carry me to you.

slow and sure,

the roughest margins of my heart

are smoothed pure.

though my heart's gaze is one of frost,

i am renewed,

yet still lost.

procured from the sand

with my gentle, tumbled edges,

now in your hand,

what will become of me,

of my heart?