Wait. Your body
is a tool for measure;
surely, now you know
the helpless are immune.
Once, I saw
my father's face
stranger than disjointed
bone, blue and swollen;
I am not as
useless as I seem.
Someone sees what
someone else is missing.
On a stretch
of beach, a fragment
of a shell. I gather pieces
of a whole and glue them
into art, into memory,
barely reaching likeness
or the effigy of God
