the vase

in small pieces
you find the broken
vase on the floor.
it seems unfixable,
part dust, part
sharp slivers of
glass that can't
be mended back
together. it's a
cold puzzle of
porcelain broken
apart. you'd
have to sail all
the back to venice
to find the same one,
or one very close
to the vase you
had sitting on a
pedestal, so near
to where the dog
wags his tail in
happiness when he
sees you come home.
he only knows that
he loves you, and
misses you, not
what his tail
has done.