Recovery

One small biopsy ten years ago  
after which, a lifetime of blue

pills. A bankruptcy, a building
up again, an overflow of stops

and starts. What's there to show? 
A wind blows through and combs 

the tops of waves. Skiff is a word 
I learned not too long ago; several

bob in the shallows as if they 
were some kind of animal tethered 

to both the sea and land. But I 
am rich now, with cargo from 

the rinds of trees. I fold and 
unfold them in my hands, listen

as with their mouths full of words
they murmur all day and all night.