little as a fiddle in an orchestra
of double bass. As little as a broken
piece of glass that fell off his chandelier. I
cried ice-buckets of tears. He turned me

into sawdust/then swept me up
as fluff on his floor. I was no more
than a speck on his spectacles that he
wiped off with a cloth and tossed in

his drawer. I stuck to that cloth
like a moth to the flame. I burned without
the fire like a rainy day in Spain.