100s and 1000s

I'd knocked it over,
the jar I'd filled with all my hope.

It scattered across the floorboards - scittered,
like 100s and 1000s
full of colour
individually insignificant
but sweet.

I cupped my hand,
and tenderly scrapped them up,
flutted my hand,
streaming them into their broken jar,
ruined now, couldn't consume.
but the memory was important.
shattered glass fragments cut my hand,
my fault.
an accident
time to rebuild.