Poem: November 8, 2019

First Do No Harm

There is much that needs healing
and much that rots away.

Everything within our spheres
seems fleshy and susceptible
to harm, exposed and bruisable.

Apples, dry wall, democracy,
all teetering and impermanent,

each a place to put our hands,
a thing to tend, to shine
or patch, to smooth or defend,

and ourselves, too, blind and
shambling collections of flaws,

given to service and convinced
there are reasons to be hopeful,
not less than time, not less than
steady wind or lapping tide.