Broken bottle green,
I toss glass shards in the air and
Catch them on tongue.
There is no home going,
Without this,
They say.
A shore insight,
And it’s all pinpricks of
Multi-colored lights.
It is in the undoing,
I feel most at home.
Blue bottle ruin,
Gin flows.
It is so good to be back,
I was caught in the undertow.
Behind there is white picket fence silence,
I settle onto a stool.
I will not be going back there.
