that night, i cried
I begged her
Not to pardon,
but for recall,
for the spirit of what we had
To complain back.

I begged her to look
beyond the wreckage of myself,
To sift through ashes
for something delicate.

but she turned
And in that curving
left me to break,
A hulk not worth repairing.

and i know
God, I comprehend:
it is my fault.
each piece.

That is my fault as an auxiliary back-bone, bowed and merciless