Small Ode of Many Parts

The fractured arm’s a corridor
leading away but always to the heart.

The ache in the side makes a carpet
to dull all other noise.

The cheeks will be pillows for stone
birds that water calcified.

The ear’s a funnel sifting sand and
sugar, salt and wind and sand.

The eyes shutter open
to a finger’s leverage.

The chest shines out, brave as any brittle
figurehead of carved and painted wood.

The brow bends to the earth to kiss
a pebble of humility.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Water Way.

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