I have spent my whole life developing a theory justifying living untheoretically.

A favorite item can’t be replaced.

The cup I was —
I liked to drink out of —
is broken now.

Was it my fault?
Was it my faults? —
the fault lines that make it
 so easy to break?

No!
In defiance...
No!
In love... with, of, for myself
In the fire,
I bleed gold
and heal.
Resplendent! 

My faults
No!
My spangles
My Self

A supersaturated atmosphere
 of raw energy envelops us,
 creating a million potential tributaries.
Any lucky one elucidates its burning
 connection up to heaven,
 rightly, quaintly, evoking God.