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
