from the heart was not a bullet.
A token of love taken too close
to heart. Too close for comfort.
Penetrating as unwanted truth.
Glass, beautiful but not see through,
it pierced her in the course of
the accident. A hesitant recovery.
Waking up, with him tearful –barely
seeing her– at her bedside.
An unhelpful stammer: “What
did you dream about?”
And she: “I can’t remember”.