My whole is fragmentary thing
A night whistle,a canine’s wail
A whine dying from a stomach
A reversing car’s warning wail
A stick tapping a night’s road.

Stick is fragment to watchman
Being fragment to a once tree
A piece of watchman and tree
A piece of my night, a window
A curtain rustling flower prints.

Curtain is fragment of the wind
A chime unheard,a creeper lost
In a night sky, its flowers stars
In a sky that is time’s fragment
A poem is fragment of a whole,
My life a fragment of the world.