Whereby I stabbed my palm 

with a pen in simply attempting 
to put a lid on it—
for all of those moments
when one mutters, something’s
changed today, though I can’t
quite place just what
—would you remember 
the moment you realized
all of the trembling beauty 
of blueberry shrubs come sunrise traces 
the world’s swoln soul, the frail 
echoes of shale and shell bark swept
from the breast bone, splintering
tip of a cigarette splayed to a 
frenzied cherry?