the vase

you stumble
and brush up
against
a vase in the hall.
it topples
and falls in slow
motion,
hitting
the hardwood
floor with a soft
thud.
a cloud
of dust rises
as it shatters
into  pieces,
too many
and too small
to patch
it back together.
but she laughs
and says,
it's fine
there are more
where that
came from.
i'm leaving
to visit italy again
next week,
and i'll pick up
another. you say
your sorry.
she says don't be.
i like the way
you break things.