This is my body, broken for you
into grey majestic tree bark
and computer screens
and funky ducks.
Look! I am Christmas lights gleaming from garland
and scrap paper.
I am your VISA bill.
I am those photographs and your thought
that there must be something more,
something more than this.
Like that fishing reel hanging on the wall,
we’ve swallowed the hook and misunderstood,
thinking we’re silver-glinting fish
called Kathy or John or chickadee or poem
when we’re really
all of it,
my body broken for you
into imperfect perfection.