Breaking the Yard Statue

His childhood

bounces randomly in the yard.

Kwan Yin falls hard on the brick path.

She, who promised

to hold still until

we had all mastered compassion,

lays in two pieces.

His apology, breathless,

in a swollen voice,

hardly fits his mouth.

The head of the statue

by the window well,

a clean line.

Putting the ball aside,

he holds her body

while I apply the glue,

aligning her neck.

Only I notice

her eyes opening

for an instant

as we resume our game.