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.