under the gentle flickering of the string lights,
my personal fireflies, captured stars, miniature bonfires-
I work on my model train.

my hands are not gentle
in the way this needs
and the fence
snaps.

and then.
one shuddering inhale.
a shaky, quiet exhale to match.
Consummation.
all at once, it is silent.

the fence can be glued.
pieces gently gathered
and painstakingly placed together.
I won't do it.

a ballet dancer lifts himself into the air
and the crowd holds a breath.
and as he lands, ever so gracefully,
in another universe
a small model fence snaps.

a squeal of tyres
as a car flips, once, twice, three times over.
it smashes into a barrier on the motorway,
and smoke begins to rise.
I still remember the screaming.
not all accidents are quiet.

a body, encased in solid wood.
I can't remember what kind.
carrying that,
I know how Atlas felt. just a little.
I wasn't sure I'd land on my feet, that time.

the fence wasn't all that heavy.
it broke all the same.
I placed the pieces in the box;
maybe one day I'll glue them.
I'd have to buy the glue.
a thought for another day.