The body is 70% water
so jump in
Free dive to the pieces of past you
Find them where you scattered them
hid them long ago
currents tumble them, wear their edges
your hand will catch the jagged points

Not all the pieces will be there
The whole past is lost under sands
We will gather you in a big bag
and spread you all out on the table
cherish some, toss others,
laugh at the light they reflect

All this is bourgeois decadence

I can't edit. It's too painful to fail at making everything perfect.