Broken cup

I sit next to you

like a transparent, empty cup.

Thin rimmed thoughts circle

like abandoned satellites.

You don’t notice me.

There is no thirst for emptiness.

An ocean waits somewhere.

It wants to fit in a cup.

I don’t ache for your lips.

I don’t fill myself with froth

to quench you,

I know

Zen is not for you.

It happens – or not.

 

You get up casually,

knocking me down.

I break into bits

on the hard cement floor.

Your rushed feet step on my splinters.

You bleed.

Now, you notice.