The blunt short wand interrogates
my knee, a pain I can't answer.
The man in scrubs is waiting
for me to say it hurts. But
I came for healing.
In another room, someone's being
fixed by laser, getting back
his eyes. Light, sound, touch
do things I'll never understand.
But, on trust, tomorrow
I'll walk better than today.
Grateful that my knee accepts
a magic that digs as deep
as inquisition,
I step down
and out the door, where light
goes greening sourgrass and
birds spring songs
like every morning new
beyond my hands.
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