The blue mosaic cracks
into a null trinity, as division bells
prick the heart from painted
scenes that crashed into their happiness
like a minute spent in the breeze.
        One gale later, the builder goes
down on headache and knees for missing
pieces that continue their ungodliness.
Their gaps speak in the personal,
the heard goodbyes of women thought
to complete the home, the total dream
polishing off a damp sepulchre.
        At the last chime, another piece
will be thrown to the company
of wolves. This shack of a jigsaw cries
over its page of scribbled lines that thought
itself a plan. The builder scratches.
A second edition is offered in the baseball cards,
looking for leaps forward into home-base
on a dance of respiratory applause.