out the window

a thousand years ago
lightning struck sand;
a human saw it, thought
some deity (sky,
thunder, maybe rain)
was gifting them,
went to see the carnage
and found a crystalline substance
as smooth as their lovers' cheek.

the descendants of both
can be found in the pane
that your mother once broke
when you were a small child
and the shards that then breached
your soft honey-hued skin
and endowed your strong arms
with their first battle scars.

you told me a while,
such long times ago,
what it was that she threw
out the window back then:
besides any hope
that you had of her love,
a portrait you made
of her smiling face
currently underground
like her musical taste.