Waiting September 19, 2011

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?

"Monet was nearsighted and painted what he saw."

Stacks of Wheat
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For Keith Jarrett
"Thank you, Mark, for posting this incredibly beautiful and heartwarming poem. Blessings, Laraine"

The Work of Care

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