The sound of breaking

The sound of breaking is late. Thunder shatters gray clouds after lightning strikes the damp soil. When pieces of sky pierce flesh, the scream is slow to rise— The sound of breaking follows pain’s echo. The sound of breaking is gentle. Raindrops tiptoe on my eyelids— each sting a secret pressed down. Earth's unbridled tears fall for my dried irises like a mother weeping for her daughter’s sorrow. The sound of breaking soothes the broken. The sound of breaking is silent. Breaking is walking beside the light, but too dim to cast a shadow. I watch as the sun clears the post-rain sky, dyes its silk blue with the arc of a rainbow— the sound of breaking mutes even the birdsong at dawn.