I may have done myself a mischief
The metaphors of which our life is made
shift underfoot like boats that pull from shore.
My hand that broke once bangs against a floor
and aches again like heart. Pain is delayed
until we know what's break, and what is bruise.
Hopes can be lies, but so are many fears.
You strap up, wear the brace, keep it for years.
It's when loss is accepted that I lose.
Smashed bone is simple true, but love is mist
that swirls and changes. Breath your passion deep.
It will not choke you. Sometimes, half-asleep,
you trust and smile. But then an aching wrist
wakes you a little. There's a nagging pain
sweet goddess have I broken it again?