How do they do it?
The ones washed ashore.
Who in a broken pile put
themselves together. Who
after the hurricane sort the
rubble for the nails that still
can hold. Who after being cut
dream of stitches. They are the
heroes. The ones who like an
old tree grow around anything.
The ones who grow another
arm, another leg, another way.
And what starts the growing?
Is it the rain on the turtle’s
back as she never waivers? Is
it the look of the fox before
he disappears in the woods?
At what instant does the break
in the bone realize it must
join its other half?