I wait for a sign, some change in the light
But all is stillness.
In the wake of the storm,
I survey the damage
Assessing what I find.
Pieces of myself are strewn about,
Some shredded beyond repair,
Others merely marred.
I wonder if it’s worth the effort.
If there is a point to “starting over.”
How can anything good come from this?
Unaware of my musings,
The sun rises, the birds sing
and I bend, claiming a remnant.