On a bench in the garden

The birds trace 

a silver line around 

my existential dread 

---

And the past returns

kaleidoscopically:

fragments of chaos

revolving inside my head

---

My paperweight heart

counts each one and

pins them down 

like a diary note

---

On a bench in the garden 

I wished the sun 

could melt trauma 

like it melt the snow