the fractured pot,
pale blue,
unearthed from deep
within
the dry well,
a fragment of the past
dug up,
brushed clean. but
even now, two hundred
years later, it's still
a broken pot, at
least to you.
these are all FICTIONAL stories and characters and are in no way representative of any real
experiences in my or anyone else's life. any similarities are purely coincidental, except for the dog poems.
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