the saw whirls

the resin-shell cracks

two halves, a schism

a whole, broken open

a dull aching

the carapace lifts

my limb lies covered

blue hands dart

like swallows against blue

cast, bed, smock, floor

the cotton-clouds part and

the flesh below is sallow

muscle rendered feeble

wasted, thin

hollowed

healed

 

sometimes

we are strongest

where we have been broken