A Shard To Hold

I can trace the leadlined,
stained glass edges of her mind.

The colours linger -
spill their warmth upon me,
even in my dim reflecting light.

A luminous joy, save the shattered shards —
crazed and serrated, the opaque darkness
that cut not just once, but twice.

The shared pain is a gift.

Her fragility calls my tenderness;
far from ruining the design.

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